


Christmas is the Time to Say I Love You

by enigma731, invisibledaemon



Series: Keep the Car Running (Universe) [4]
Category: Guardians of the Galaxy (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Christmas Fluff, F/M, Family Feels, Sisters, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-26 07:07:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 25,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17137262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enigma731/pseuds/enigma731, https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledaemon/pseuds/invisibledaemon
Summary: Gamora has become rather fond of Wal-Mart. Aside from being a place where her appearance doesn’t get so much as a second glance, it’s also a cultural center for Terrans. They’d come here a few months ago during another Terran holiday, Halloween, and the store had been full of clothing, food, and decorations central to the tradition.Christmas, it seems, is no different. Though not everybody appreciates it.“I am going to murder every last person here,” Nebula growls. “And none of them will even see me coming.”“Probably true,” Peter says easily. “Murder? Fine, no big deal. Trying to snipe the last turkey out from under their noses? Fight to the death.”





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, two whole weeks since we posted a chapter of Keep the Car Running…. That’s too long. We can’t live like this 
> 
> Okay, so this is not a new chapter, but it is a new fic in the same universe! This one is our two-part holiday special, full of Christmas shenanigans, strategically placed mistletoe, sisterly bonding, and hopefully some long overdue healing for everyone’s favorite murderous cyborg
> 
> This is a sequel to Keep the Car Running! You may be able to read this without having read that first if that's how you want to do it! But there's gonna be a lot of stuff you'll be confused about if you haven't read ktcr. Also this will be chock full o' spoilers for it 
> 
> Hope you enjoy <3

“Okay, Guardians,” Peter says, pressing one of the levers in front of him as far down as it’ll go, speeding their descent. “Get ready. This could get dangerous.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rocket says, unimpressed. “You say that every time.” 

Peter glares at him. “And every time it gets dangerous.”

Rocket shrugs carelessly, throwing his feet up on the console in front of him. He’s the only one of all of them who has enough room for that. Gamora can’t help but feel envious of that as she adjusts in her seat, pulling one of her legs up to her chest so her other has more room. 

It’s been a while since they’ve been in an area this cramped, but a pod was the best method of transportation for their...purposes. Kraglin took them as far as he could in the Quadrant, but it’s far too big to take all the way. 

She glances at Nebula in the seat next to her, actually feeling a bit nervous about this. It’s worth it, though, to have her here. 

Her sister is sharpening a knife almost casually; Gamora would think she’s not paying any attention to the rest of them were it not for her frequent eye-rolls and head-shakes. Still, she seems focused mostly on the mission, preparing for danger. As she always is lately. 

“This will be exceedingly dangerous!” Drax bellows loudly. Gamora winces. “Possibly the most dangerous thing we have ever attempted!” 

“We just killed Thanos,” says Nebula, her voice carefully devoid of emotion. She sounds disinterested, but Gamora knows better.

“We did not just kill him!” says Drax, volume only very slightly reduced. “We just took a vacation on Krylor!”

“A supply run on Krylor,” Peter corrects, though his attention is still mostly on the controls as he brings the pod through the atmosphere. He probably doesn’t _need_ to be so intensely focused, but he and Knight Rider are still having their never-ending debate over whether being a self-navigating car-slash-jet on Earth qualifies one to pilot a spacecraft. She is _not_ about to get in the middle of that.

“It has been months since we killed Thanos!” Drax insists.

“Nevertheless,” Nebula says coolly, “my point stands. This cannot possibly be more dangerous than that. So _not_ the most dangerous thing we have ever attempted.”

“It _is_ a distress call,” says Peter, evidently not too distracted to keep up the team leader rhetoric. He still hasn’t gotten over being extra serious about it, as though Thor might pop out of the closet at any moment and try to usurp his position.

Gamora winces, trying not to tense up at that. Regardless of today’s situation, it’s hard not to think of the last time they responded to a distress call.

“Yes, it was very distressed!” Mantis says, in a manner so over-the-top it would make Drax proud. In fact, Gamora turns around in her seat in time to see Drax give Mantis an encouraging nod. 

Gamora glances nervously at Nebula, but thankfully Mantis says enough weird things that this hasn’t fazed her at all; she’s still just polishing her knife. 

“I am Groot?” he asks, speaking up for the first time since they left the Quadrant. He’s slumped over in his seat in his usual manner, playing his game. 

“No, we’re not _there yet_ ,” Rocket says disdainfully. “Yeesh, this is like a ten minute flight, have some damn patience!” 

“The destination is approximately two minutes and fourteen seconds away,” Knight Rider says primly. He helpfully enlarges the flight path on the viewport in front of them, showing the expected arrival time. 

The port is half-filled with that screen and others like it, showing coordinates and other data, but behind all that they can see a bird’s eye view of the planet Kanis, full of mostly dingy and run-down cities that they’re approaching rapidly. 

Gamora looks down at the screen in front of her, making sure they’re staying on track, but Peter hasn’t strayed so much as a yard. Even after years of witnessing his skills as a pilot, she’s impressed by this particular feat. She reminds herself to tell him so later, no matter how much it’ll go to his head. 

“The signal appears to be coming from the north east quadrant,” says Knight Rider. He shifts the display off the flight path, instead showing a map of the terrain below. He shows the signal too, as a series of red dots that converge into a line at the coordinates where it’s ostensibly located.

“Any lifeforms in the area?” asks Peter, looking up at the map too.

“Many,” says Knight Rider. “Though I cannot tell if they are friendly or hostile. According to the strategic knowledge I have available, which is all strategic knowledge, it is likely to be a mix of hostiles and potential allies.”

“Stop talking,” says Nebula, “and take me there so I can kill some people.”

“Now, now,” says Peter, waggling a finger over his shoulder. “Be nice to him. Knight Rider’s a Guardian and you know our rules. We can be a-holes as far as everyone else is concerned, but not to each other.”

“I will be an a-hole to anyone I please,” says Nebula, undoing her harness, probably so that she can be out of the ship and killing people the very first moment it touches down.

“I am an AI,” says Knight Rider. “I am not sure that I can--”

“Hey!” Peter interrupts. “I just realized! It stands for Asshole Intelligence.”

“It certainly does not,” Knight Rider says stiffly. “It stands for Artificial—“ 

“Hey,” Peter says. “If you’re a Guardian, you should be proud to call yourself an A-hole! Isn’t that right, guys?” 

“Speak for yourself, A-hole,” Rocket mutters. 

“Yay A-holes!” Mantis cheers. 

“She’s got the spirit!” Peter says, pointing at Mantis without turning around. She beams. 

“It is inaccurate,” Knight Rider insists. “I am a computer—“ 

Gamora is the one who interrupts him this time. “We are almost there.” 

“And now you’ve fallen down on your duties,” Peter says with a sad shake of his head. “It’s a good thing my wife is so on top of things.” He turns to throw her a wink and a smile, which she returns, more than used to his antics by now. Besides, she can’t deny the thrill that still runs through her every time Peter brings up their marriage — which is quite a lot. 

“I was _about_ to inform you of that,” Knight Rider says petulantly. 

“Sure,” Peter snorts. 

“Would ya quit playin’ with the AI and land this damn thing already?” Rocket says. 

“You say that like I can’t do them both.” He turns around with a flourish and snaps his fingers before getting back to the controls. “Knight Rider! You wanna help me take this baby down?”

“Certainly, Mr. Star-Lord,” says Knight Rider. “I am more than capable of--”

“Too bad!” Peter interrupts. “Only real boys get to fly this ship!”

“Gee, thanks,” says Gamora, though she knows Peter would let her fly any of his ships in a heartbeat. Has, in fact, many times.

“Or most-amazing-woman-in-the-universes,” he amends quickly. Then he turns back to Rocket. “See? Told you I could do both!”

“Your maturity continues to be stunning, Mr. Star-Lord,” says Knight Rider. He leaves Peter in control of the ship, though. Really, the fact that Knight Rider hasn’t turned murderous yet is compelling proof that the AI really does have a heart of gold. Though she’s sure _he_ would claim not to have a heart at all.

“We are almost there!” Drax interrupts, bellowing as always. “It is almost time for danger!”

“Everyone strap in for landing,” says Gamora, shooting a meaningful look at Nebula.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she says disdainfully. 

“I am not.” Gamora stares her down until she sighs and buckles back in, grumbling the whole way. She’s almost as bad as Groot. 

The second they make the landing she’s the first one unbuckled and out of her seat, two electric batons at the ready. Gamora follows close behind, prepared for her inevitable reaction once the pod’s door opens. 

Drax is stifling giggles behind them and she shoots him a glare; they’ve made it this far, she doesn’t want him ruining it now when they’re so close. Though she supposes it doesn’t really matter now. 

“Are we ready?” Peter asks, taking his place beside Gamora in front of the door. He winks at her again and she smacks him playfully in the side. 

“Yes, I am ready to be out of this damn box,” Nebula growls. “Open the door already.” 

“All you had to do was ask,” Knight Rider says mildly, sliding the door open. 

Gamora holds her breath as Nebula steps out, then immediately stops when she takes in where they’ve landed. 

It takes another second for the backup forcefield to fall, and then it becomes completely clear: They’re in the middle of a field. A downright idyllic field, in fact, in Missouri. There are no sounds of imminent danger, unless one considers the nearby chickens or cows to be a threat. There’s also a thin coating of snow on the ground, which gives Gamora pause, starts a knot in the pit of her stomach. She shoves it down, though, because there isn’t time for that. This is about Nebula, not her. 

Nebula takes another step away, though she already looks suspicious, and not in the ‘alert for a job’ way. She looks around farther, spins slowly in a circle, then turns back to Gamora, her expression murderous. “We are on Earth, aren’t we. Not Kanis.”

“We do appear to be,” says Gamora, doing her best to feign innocence. It’s difficult with Drax snickering behind her again, not helped when Mantis puts a hand over his mouth as if to shush him and promptly starts giggling too.

“Surprise!” says Peter, doing something he calls jazz hands. 

Nebula’s grip around her batons tightens and she practically growls, focusing her glare on Gamora. If she didn’t know her better, Gamora would think she was about to be stabbed. 

“I am leaving,” she says harshly, turning around and marching back towards the pod. 

“These pods can’t travel far,” Peter says smugly; that had been the real reason they’d chosen to take it, as they’d known Nebula would protest initially. “You won’t even make it out of the solar system.” 

“I will figure something out,” Nebula insists. She bangs on the now closed door of the pod. 

“Nebula, come on,” Gamora says. “Do you truly believe we didn’t think of this?” 

She ignores her. “Open up, you infernal machine!” 

“I am sorry, Ms. Nebula,” Knight Rider says, voice projecting from outside the pod. “Mr. Star-Lord has ordered me not to allow you to leave.” 

“He is an imbecile,” she growls, turning her murderous glare on him. He just grins. 

“Ms. Gamora seconded the command.” 

Nebula makes a frustrated sound and stomps back to Gamora, glaring at her from inches away. Gamora meets her gaze. 

“You tricked me.” 

“Yes,” Gamora says easily. She has to admit the fact that it’s worked pleases her for more reasons than one. It _is_ mainly because she knows that this trip will be good for Nebula, without question. But there’s also the tiny shameless part of her that still just loves besting her sister. “Because you need a break, Nebula. And you won’t listen to reason.”

“And it’s Christmas!” says Peter, taking a few steps closer, the snow crunching under his boots. 

Nebula predictably turns her glare on him. “I don’t see what that has to do with anything.”

“It’s _Christmas_!” he repeats. “The most wonderful time of the year?”

“I am not Terran,” says Nebula. “I have no investment in the birth of your Santa Claus deity.”

“Christmas is also about family,” says Gamora, glancing at Peter for confirmation, though she’s heard him say as much dozens of times. Still, she always wants to make sure that she’s getting his traditions right. “And I want my sister here to celebrate it with me.”

“I am going to kill all of you,” Nebula growls, about as convincing as any of her other lies, which is not at all. 

“At least wait ‘til after we say hi to my grandpa,” Peter says. 

“Come on,” Gamora says softly, putting her hand on Nebula’s shoulder. “What’s the harm?” 

“Indulging your foolishness,” she grumbles, but takes off towards the house. 

“Huh,” Drax says, sounding mildly impressed. “She didn’t punch anyone. You were correct, Quill.” 

“I told you,” Peter says smugly. He takes Gamora’s hand as they start following Nebula. The others fall in line behind them, Groot bringing up the a rear, eyes on his game as usual. It won’t be a long walk, as the farm isn’t that big, but his grandfather has dedicated this space near the back for them to land their ship when they come visit. “She loves us.” 

“She does often threaten to murder us,” Mantis observes. “But she never follows through.” 

“Yeah, that means she loves us,” Peter says, like _duh_. 

“She does love us,” Gamora says confidently. “Though she is now very mad at us.” 

“Eh, what else is new?” Rocket mutters. Initially he’d griped about the idea of a holiday visit too, but Gamora knows better than to believe that. His love of the farm has been evident since the first time they came here; she’d have been able to see it even if it wasn’t for her...more unusual knowledge of the way things could be for him here.

“You okay?” Peter asks softly, and she shakes herself.

“Yes, of course, why would I not be?”

He shrugs, clearly trying to be nonchalant. “You were shivering.”

She does her best to banish the not-quite-memories. They feel slightly less alien than they did a few months ago, but she still hates when she finds herself getting lost in them. Even the good ones. “It’s cold. As I have heard it should be for a Terran Christmas.”

“True,” says Peter, though he furrows his brow as they approach the house, which looks the same as it always does. She’s going to ask him for his own thoughts, but she doesn’t get the chance. 

Grandpa Quill has already got the back door of the house open, and he’s halfway down the steps to greet them, grinning wide. It’s amazing how quickly he’s gone from shock at their appearance to familiar pleasure. Perhaps that easy acceptance of any number of alien races is genetic.

“You made it!” he exclaims, hugging Peter and Gamora quickly. Then he turns to Nebula. He’s been briefed on this whole situation, including the fact that she won’t be happy upon arrival. Still, he marches right up, so intent on hugging her too that she barely has time to deactivate her batons first, a stricken expression on her face.

“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you,” he says genuinely. “Peter and Gamora have told me so much about you, I feel like I know you already.” 

Nebula doesn’t hug him back, but she doesn’t push him away, which is basically a positive reaction by Nebula standards. She stands there stiffly, arms at her sides, and gives him a strange look when he pulls back. 

“Have they?” she asks dryly, with a disdainful look in their direction. She’s not glaring anymore, though. 

Grandpa Quill nods. “They’re always talking about their family,” he says, patting Peter on the back. “And you’re my grandson’s sister-in-law, so you know that makes you my granddaughter-in-law as well.” 

“What about me?” Drax demands before Nebula can respond. 

“You wanna be his granddaughter-in-law too?” Rocket snorts. 

“I do too!” Mantis says, raising her hand. 

Grandpa Quill laughs. “You can all be my granddaughters-in-law, how’s that?” 

“You’re obviously the best one, though,” Peter whispers to Gamora. 

“I know,” she says with a smile. She squeezes his hand, but she’s mostly focused on Nebula; she’s standing, arms crossed, with an entirely unconvincing glare as she watches Grandpa Quill hug all the others. 

She’s definitely less tense than when they first landed, which is a relief. Gamora’s confident that if Nebula will just give this place a chance, she’ll grow to love it as much as the others do. She’ll actually have to _let_ herself, though. 

“It is excellent!” says Mantis, giving Grandpa Quill another hug. Her antennae glow for a moment and then her grin grows even bigger.

“It _is_ excellent!” Drax agrees, wrapping both of them in a hug so enthusiastic that for a second Gamora thinks Peter is going to have to save his grandpa from their affections.

“Ugh,” Nebula sneers, but then she seems to think better of it, glancing furtively at Grandpa Quill as though concerned that he might have heard and actually become offended or hurt.

Gamora feels a flush of satisfaction at that. She knows Nebula is far from heartless, but it still always pleases her to see direct proof.

“So,” says Peter, as Mantis and Drax finally finish their hug. “It _is_ Christmas, isn’t it?”

“Yes, yes, Christmas Eve,” says Grandpa Quill, straightening his glasses, which have been knocked askew. Then he runs a hand through his hair, momentarily the spitting image of Peter. “You’re askin’ because of the house, right? I could’ve sworn I had all the old decorations in the attic, but it looks like I’m must’ve given them away at some point. Been looking for the past couple days.”

“Been a while since you put them up?” asks Peter, his voice filled with understanding. That must have been what his look of concern was about earlier too. 

Grandpa Quill nods. “You know, so many years it was just me…Sorry to disappoint.”

“That’s okay!” says Peter, patting his shoulder. It’s obvious that it isn’t _really_ okay, but he’s going to make it that way. “That just means I get to show everyone another Christmas tradition: Last minute shopping run!”

* * *

Gamora has become rather fond of Wal-Mart. Aside from being a place where her appearance doesn’t get so much as a second glance, it’s also a cultural center for Terrans. They’d come here a few months ago during another Terran holiday, Halloween, and the store had been full of clothing, food, and decorations central to the tradition. 

Christmas, it seems, is no different. Though not everybody appreciates it. 

“It is impossible to move in this place,” Nebula grumbles. They are currently fighting through a crowd of people who all seem intent on standing still in very narrow walkways, another Terran tradition. 

“Speak for yourself!” Rocket calls gleefully; he’s in the lead right now, as he’s small enough to fit through gaps in people that the others can’t. 

“It’s part of the charm!” Peter laughs, arm around Gamora’s shoulders despite the fact that this makes it even more difficult for them to get through these aisles. 

“Then it is very charming!” Mantis says earnestly. Her antennae keep lighting up very briefly every time someone bumps into her, and she’ll experience a brief moment of frustration or worry or a frantic desire to find the toy aisle, but other than that she seems to be enjoying it. 

“I shouldn’t be surprised that _this_ is what Terrans find charming,” Nebula sneers. She attempts to elbow her way past a woman in front of her, but she stubbornly remains staring at her phone, seemingly completely unaware of her environment. When she finally does move, Nebula throws an angry and confused look back at her.

Gamora’s not sure whether to laugh or be saddened by that; Nebula is always baffled when people aren’t scared of her, especially on first meeting. She’s used to it with the Guardians by now, but a sea of people who don’t seem to notice her appearance, much less care, must be confusing to her. 

“I am going to murder every last one of them,” Nebula growls when she catches Gamora watching her. “And none of them will even see me coming.”

“Probably true,” Peter says easily. “Murder? Fine, no big deal. Trying to snipe the last turkey out from under their noses? Fight to the death.”

Nebula blinks, apparently not understanding and not liking the fact that she doesn’t. “Turkey?”

“It’s a traditional Terran food,” says Gamora, proud of the fact that she _does_ know. “They eat it on holidays, so sometimes it is in short supply.” She’s even eaten it before, though she has to admit that it’s not her favorite of the foods Earth has to offer. It’s not that it’s _bad_ , exactly. Just sort of unremarkable. She doesn’t understand why Terrans hold it in such high regard when bacon exists.

“Look!” Mantis squeals, before Nebula has a chance to respond with more vitriol. She’s a few yards ahead of them, waving a box she’s grabbed from one of the displays over her head. “Look, Peter, it’s _you_!”

Peter takes the box from her, which brings it close enough for Gamora to see: The box does, indeed, feature Peter’s face, or at least his mask. It’s unclear to her, though, why his image is printed on the packaging of what appears to be the Terran equivalent of a very fancy toothbrush. 

“Huh,” says Peter, looking at the writing now. “Well hey, they got my name right!”

“Oh, does it say Star-Munch?” Rocket asks, cackling. 

Peter just smugly shows off the correct spelling on the box and says, “Notice _you_ don’t have one.” 

Rocket rolls his eyes. “Oh, whatever will I do? I’m not immortalized forever on the side of a toothbrush.” 

“Why do I not have one?” Drax booms, looking over the shelf. 

“I am Groot.” 

“I do _too_ know what dental hygiene is!” he protests. “It is cleaning performed on the mouth with--”

“Apparently only males are allowed to grace the outside of Terran toothbrushes,” Nebula says disdainfully. 

“No,” Peter says, scanning the display and frowning. There are indeed only men: him, Stark, Thor, Hulk, and T’Challa. “Well—they probably just...ran out of room.” 

“Pepper said we would all be on everything!” Drax says, which is untrue. He crosses his arms petulantly. 

He’s stubbornly shirtless, despite a sign outside saying one is required; he’d only laughed when Mantis pointed it out. So far no one inside has said anything, and Gamora has to admit that she doubts anyone will. It’s only ever been mentioned a couple of times in Terran restaurants, and those people had backed down almost immediately. She can’t say whether that’s due to the sight of his knives, the ensuing litany about his nipples, or both. 

“Perhaps only male Terrans require such ridiculous diversions to remind them to perform personal hygiene,” says Nebula, picking up one of the boxes with Stark on it and staring his image down.

“Hey!” says Peter, though Gamora knows he’s only slightly offended. She’s _seen_ the dramatic uptick in his own hygiene in the transition between Ravager and Guardian. Actually she’s pretty sure that he still might not brush his teeth on a regular basis were it not for the fact that he likes to be able to kiss her frequently.

“We came here to get decorations,” Gamora reminds all of them, because she’s seen at least two people pull out cell phone cameras and semi-surreptitiously point them toward Rocket. The last thing they need right now is for this to turn into an all-out yelling match in the middle of the store. Apparently the anonymity of Wal-Mart doesn’t work one hundred percent of the time. She turns back to Peter. “What all does that entail? We should make a list.”

“Well, we definitely need a lot of lights!” he says, looking around. They’re in the section entirely dedicated to the holiday, which is large but also the most crowded part of the store. The sheer volume of things for sale is overwhelming; the aisles seem to go on and on. “And other stuff for outside like--I don’t know. Whatever they have! And we need stockings, and...some other inside stuff! Like ornaments for the tree. Oh! We also need a tree! We’ll get that on the way out.” 

“That sounds like a lot,” Drax says. “I approve!” 

“Perhaps we should split up,” Gamora says, putting her hand on Peter’s arm. He seems overwhelmed by everything here too, though not necessarily in a bad way. It’s not like he would have ever had to go Christmas shopping on his own, she supposes, so this is probably scarcely less new to him than it is to the rest of them. 

“Yeah!” he agrees, smiling at her gratefully. “Divide and conquer! Me, Gamora, and Nebula will get the outside stuff! The rest of you get the inside stuff!”

“We will!” Drax declares, already zooming off down the first aisle he comes across. “We will conquer this Wal-Mart!” Mantis follows him down the aisle, practically skipping with glee. 

“Do you idiots even know where you’re going?” Rocket grumbles as he follows them as well. 

“Keep an eye on them,” Gamora whispers to Groot, only half-joking. He smirks and follows at a much slower pace, somehow weaving seamlessly through the crowd even though he never looks up from his game. 

“You may never see them again,” says Nebula, as she watches them go. She says it like it wouldn’t actually be a tragedy at all, but Gamora knows better. Nebula may not know how -- or allow herself -- to express it openly yet, but there’s no question that she values her family every bit as much as the rest of them do. 

“Nah,” says Peter, completely unconcerned. “They’re good. I mean, who knows what we’ll end up with to actually put on the tree, but that’s okay! Keeps it interesting.”

“We have all been to Wal-Mart many times,” Gamora assures her. Maybe this time they’ll even make it out without Rocket stealing anything. Not that the store seems particularly concerned about the treatment of its merchandise, judging from the amount of it that’s been thrown on the floor or otherwise rifled about. 

“Of course you have,” says Nebula, as if it’s further proof of their poor taste. 

Gamora doesn’t get a chance to respond to that, though. They’ve made it to the back wall of the store, and her attention is caught by the large open area filled with what appear to be artificial trees. The foliage looks questionable, but it’s the glitter on some of them that captivates her. And the lights -- hundreds of tiny, twinkling lights nestled in the branches, reminding her of Groot’s spores. For a moment she’s sure it’s the most beautiful thing she’s ever seen.

Then Peter says from a little ahead of her, “There’s a lot more variety than when I was a kid,” and she turns to see him looking up at at the displays of what must be the outdoor lights. Many of them are similar to the ones on the trees, only with some larger or in different shapes. 

The ones that make her catch her breath, though, are the long, whitish-blue ones that look almost like icicles. They twinkle and move in such a way that they could be falling snow -- only prettier, and without the cold. Captivated, she walks over to stand directly beneath them, even though she now has to crane her neck to see. 

“Do you like ‘em?” Peter asks softly, standing close to her now. He puts a gentle hand on her back and she smiles. 

“Yes.” She glances up at him to find him looking at her in a way that’s long become familiar, yet still manages to make her heart flutter every time: like she’s the most precious thing in the universe. 

“Then I think we’ve got our lights!” he says, grabbing several boxes of them. 

“Are they the kind you like, though?” she asks, concerned that he may be putting aside his preferences to please her. As much as she loves these lights, this is his holiday. 

“I love them!” he says, sounding sincere. “They’re gorgeous.” He holds one of the boxes out to show Nebula, who’s standing behind them with her arms crossed, letting her see the one they’ve chosen. “What do you think?”

“I think this whole thing is stupid and I would like to get out of here,” she says dryly. 

“The sooner we decide, the sooner we can leave,” Gamora tells her. 

Nebula sighs. “I suppose those are the least hideous of all of them.” 

“I am glad you like them,” says Gamora, watching as Peter selects several boxes of them. He's tall enough to easily reach things from the top shelf -- both a show she enjoys watching and the cause of plenty of bickering between him and Rocket. 

“I do not like that you kidnapped me,” Nebula gripes. “But you don't seem to care about that.”

“Would you like to select something to decorate the house or yard?” Gamora asks, sidestepping that debate. She is not going to argue about Nebula's refusal to do anything to care for herself. They've been doing that for months and it's led nowhere. 

Nebula doesn't get a chance to answer directly, because they're all interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Mantis squealing, over and above the noise of the crowded store. Gamora tenses instantly, whirling around to locate the others. It only takes a second: They're making their way along the adjacent wall, Mantis riding inside of the cart as Drax pushes it with all his might like a battering ram through the crowd. 

“Cut it out!” Peter yells, though he sounds mostly amused. “You’re gonna hurt someone!” 

Now out of sight, Drax’s voice still rings clear as he yells, “Only those foolish enough to stand in our way!” 

They see Rocket follow behind them at a slower pace, and she knows what’s going to happen before it does; he looks around, attempting to use the distraction to swipe something off a shelf, what looks like a machine that projects lights. 

“Hey!” she yells, prepared to run over there and lecture him if she has to. Before she gets a chance, though, Groot comes up behind him and slaps it out of his hands with his vines. 

She smiles proudly and Peter laughs. “See?” he says to Nebula. “They can totally take care of themselves.” 

“Totally,” Nebula sneers. 

Holding the stack of light boxes in his hands, Peter continues walking down the aisle towards other decorations. “Hopefully they’re at least getting some decorations on their way toward destroying the place.”

“How do you go anywhere in public with these buffoons?” Nebula says, throwing a disdainful look in the direction they can still hear yelling and giggling from. 

“It is easy,” Gamora says. “They’re having a good time.” Though she does still worry every time that they’re going to get kicked out of whatever place they’re in. Thankfully, that’s a rare occurrence. 

“I am not having a good time,” says Nebula. She opens her mouth to say something else, then stops short, looking down another aisle. The expression on her face changes so slowly and dramatically that it’s almost comical: from disgust to horror and then back to disgust again. “ _What_ in the _hell_ are those?”

Gamora comes around to look at where she’s pointing, and freezes too. This aisle has a display similar to the lights, except this one shows...creatures. They appear to be made of some kind of cloth, and filled with a gaseous substance -- most likely atmosphere. Many of them are lit up. 

“What _are_ they?” Gamora repeats, looking at Peter. Some of the things are shaped like animals -- she spots a dog, and a white bear, and something that looks like a smaller, thinner cow with horns and a red nose. There’s also quite a few that are shaped like a round old man with a white beard and a hat.

“Um,” says Peter, regarding the things too. “Well--hey, that’s Santa!” He points to one of the men.

“The mythical home invader all your dumb legends are based around?” Nebula asks, arms crossed and trying to act disinterested, but there’s an edge of real curiosity in her voice. 

Peter gasps, looking at her delighted. “You remembered! You did listen!”

Nebula twists her mouth, caught; now they know she’d paid at least some attention to Peter’s stories. Gamora presses her lips together to suppress laughter as she can practically see the gears turn in Nebula’s mind, trying to find some way out of this.

“How could I not?” she finally says. “You never shut up about it!” Which isn’t true. Peter’s told them all the story of Christmas only a few times that she remembers. 

Apparently seeing that this isn’t working, Nebula lets out a huff and points at the creatures again. “That is not what I meant anyway. What the hell _are_ those things?”

“They’re decorations!” he says. “For outside! You put them outside your house to show everyone you have the Christmas spirit! And we totally need this one!” He points to one that’s nearly as tall as he is that appears to be a small carousel with more of those cow creatures around it. Gamora doubts that it would function, and she doesn’t see why anyone would want this outside their house, but Peter’s enthusiasm makes her smile. 

“That is an odd way to pay homage to a deity,” says Nebula, pointing to another decoration. 

It’s another of the inflatable monstrosities, this one shaped vaguely like a Christmas tree. On the side of the triangular foliage, a small Santa Claus is climbing toward the star at the top -- only he’s been caught by a dog, which has pulled his pants down in its mouth, leaving him in boxers. With stars on them. She’s pretty sure Peter has the exact same pair.

“Well,” says Peter, his lips twitching as he tries not to laugh. “Um--It’s--Terrans sometimes tease the people and things they love, I guess?”

“Like he often does to you,” Gamora says helpfully to Nebula. 

“I torment _you_ because I hate you,” Nebula informs him helpfully. 

“Cool,” Peter says easily. “You wanna pick one out? You like Underwear Santa? I don’t know what my grandpa would think about putting that on the lawn, but he’d probably do it for you.”

“Um,” Gamora interrupts, her gaze wandering further down the aisle to the end cap on the far side. “Is that...us?”

Peter and Nebula follow her gaze, and Nebula immediately says, “Oh, good lord.” 

Peter, though—his face lights up like a little kid. He grabs Gamora’s hand and immediately tugs her at a near-run over to the display. “I think it is! Babe, we’re a Christmas display!” 

“It seems that way,” she says slowly, taking it in. It’s by far the largest decoration they’ve seen, close to life size, and featuring all of them, and the Avengers, in very dramatic poses that she’s sure she’s never done.

Otherwise their appearances are surprisingly accurate, though she supposes she _shouldn’t_ be surprised; with so much merchandise popping up after the whole thing with the Stones, Pepper decided they needed to take control of it. Gamora — and most of the others — wanted nothing to do with it, so she was more than happy to sign the responsibility over to Pepper. 

The best part really is that their portion of the proceeds from all of this goes into an account that they use when they visit Earth, so they no longer have to feel so indebted to Stark. 

Well—perhaps that is the second best part, she thinks, watching Peter’s face as he excitedly points at the figures of the two of them, standing next to each other.

“Look!” he says excitedly, pointing at details as he speaks. “They included our rings! _Babe_ , the whole universe really does know we're married!”

“I don't think that monstrosity is visible from space,” says Nebula, glaring the thing down. 

“We're getting it,” Peter says immediately, lifting one of the boxes from the shelf below it with effort. The thing might be filled with air when it's displayed, but that apparently doesn't stop it from being heavy now. 

“Let me,” says Gamora, stepping in and lifting the box into the cart easily. 

“I love you,” says Peter, the same way he almost always does when she makes some show of strength. 

“I hate you both,” says Nebula. “Are we finished yet? This is nauseating.”

“Look,” says Gamora, pointing toward the display decoration again in all its inflated glory. “You're a Christmas decoration too.”

Nebula glances furtively at her inflated self, standing next to Stark, and her expression darkens. “It would have been better to die in battle.”

“Nebula,” Gamora says disapprovingly, hurt even though she knows she doesn’t mean it. 

“Don’t _Nebula_ me,” she mutters, though her expression softens ever so slightly. “This is dumb; what does this have to do with your stupid holiday?” 

“Both us and Christmas are awesome,” Peter says firmly, patting the box. “The world loves us! It’s a good thing!” 

Gamora smiles indulgently; she’s well aware the entire planet does not feel one single way about them. The incident at the high school from Footloose, which she can’t help but remember from time to time, is proof enough of that. But Peter’s so excited about this inflatable shrine, she sees no reason to bring it up. 

“I don’t see how it’s a good thing,” Nebula says with a sneer. She looks like she’s going to say more, presumably details about why exactly it is not a good thing, when suddenly a passing, unfamiliar voice says her name. 

They all turn to investigate the sound and finds that its source is a little Terran girl, probably no more than six or seven, with a large stack of thin boxes held precariously in her arms. “--And Black Widow,” she’s saying, speaking so quickly it’s difficult to understand her. “And Gamora and Scarlet Witch and Mantis--”

“Yes, sweetheart,” an older woman, likely her mother, says. She sounds a mix between happy and exasperated. “You have _all_ of them. Now remember, this is your Christmas present. Are you sure you want them now and not to open on Christmas?”

“Yes!” the girl practically shouts. “I need to practice saving the world as soon as possible!” 

As the girl and her mother round the corner of the aisle, Gamora turns to Nebula, who’s staring after them with something almost like wonder on her face. “ _That_ is why it’s a good thing.”

* * *

Nebula looks at cookie dough like it’s some sort of a trap. They’re standing in the middle of Grandpa Quill’s kitchen and she’s got her arms crossed, watching suspiciously as Gamora carefully excavates the baking sheets that somehow always manage to get buried behind half a dozen other kitchen items. She gets a flash of memory -- Peter falling on his ass, surrounded by containers and lids.

“What are you smiling about?” asks Nebula, like she thinks Gamora’s expression is some kind of dig against her. Actually, that’s probably exactly what she thinks. 

“Just remembering something Peter did,” she says hastily. It’s still difficult not to blame herself every time Nebula reacts with paranoia or self-loathing, though she’s perfectly aware that Thanos is actually to blame. 

Nebula wrinkles her nose. “Gross. It better not be sex.”

“No!” Gamora says sharply, more than a bit horrified. “We would not do that in Peter’s grandfather’s kitchen!”

“Good to know you have _some_ discretion,” Nebula sniffs.

Gamora sighs, setting the baking trays out on the counter. “Did you get that dough opened up like I asked?”

“I did.” Nebula indicates the package. She’s removed the wrapper from the dough, but the sheet of it is still on its backing.

“You half did it,” says Gamora.

Nebula shrugs. “It’s sticky.”

Gamora smirks, remembering her own reaction to first baking in this kitchen. “That’s half the fun,” she tells Nebula, repeating what Peter had told her. He’d then winked at her; she omits that part. 

“You have a strange idea of fun,” Nebula says, looking at the block of dough as though its texture is a personal affront. 

“You’ll see.” Gamora takes the backing off the dough herself and sets the slab of it down onto a large cutting board. Then she takes a wooden rolling pin and holds it out to Nebula. “Here. You can do this part without touching the dough.”

Nebula takes the device, examining it. “This is crude, but would be a decent blunt force weapon. What does it have to do with this ridiculous activity?”

“It’s a rolling pin,” Gamora explains. “You use it to roll the dough out flatter.”

“Why does it not simply come already rolled out?” Nebula asks, looking at the dough like it’s failed her. “Or better yet, why would you not buy already made cookies instead of wasting your time with this?”

“Because it’s fun this way,” Gamora insists. 

Then outside the window in the kitchen, there’s the barely muffled sound of cheering. She looks out to see the others all holding a very long string, or strings, of the icicle lights -- Peter is nearly wrapped up in them -- that have just lit up. Gamora gasps, even though she’d seen these lights in the store. 

Also from outside, Grandpa Quill says, _”You’re supposed to light them up after you put them on the house.”_

Then she nearly jumps out of her skin at the sound of a loud bang next to her. Whirling around, she finds Nebula attempting to bludgeon the dough into submission with the rolling pin. 

“No!” says Gamora, catching her wrist reflexively, immediately concerned about the possibility of damage to Grandpa Quill's kitchen. 

Nebula wrenches her arm away, glaring, like this has all been a setup designed to humiliate her. “You told me to!”

Gamora sighs, schooling herself to find the same patience she uses with Groot. A few years ago, she would never have imagined herself interacting this way with Nebula. Or with anyone at all, really. “You're right. I should have been more clear. Give me the rolling pin and I will demonstrate.”

“Because you have so much more experience,” Nebula sneers, handing it over anyway. “You and your Terran fetish. What a waste.”

“Roll it across the dough slowly and gently,” says Gamora, ignoring that barb and demonstrating the technique. “You have to keep in mind that these implements are designed for Terrans, who do not have our strength.”

“Then why did you attach yourself to one?” she sneers. 

Gamora sighs. “Physical strength is not the most important thing in the universe, Nebula. Besides, Peter is strong in many other ways.” 

“Ugh.” Nebula rolls her eyes dramatically. “He has made you so soft.” 

“And happy,” Gamora says, holding the rolling pin out towards Nebula again before she has a chance to throw another barb. “You try.” 

Nebula groans and takes it. “Will it get you to shut up about your dumb husband?” 

“Sure,” Gamora says gamely. For now, anyway. 

“Fine,” Nebula snaps. She plonks the rolling pin down onto the dough and begins rolling it out quickly, like she thinks it’s a race — which she probably does. 

“That’s thin enough,” Gamora says after only a few seconds. “It looks great!” 

Nebula just grunts in response, plopping the pin back on the counter. It begins rolling off the counter and Gamora stops it. 

“Now we get to cut out the shapes,” she says. Nebula did do a good job despite her haste, so they have a good canvass to work with. 

“Shapes?” Nebula questions. “What—?” 

She cuts herself off when Gamora answers the question by holding up several cookie cutters of various shapes, all of them Christmas themed. 

“All right,” says Nebula, holding up one that's vaguely Santa Claus shaped, probably placated by the sharp end of it. She puts it up to her eye, peering through it in a way that's definitely comical, though Gamora is certain that's not how she intends it. “Why are we eating their deity?”

Gamora shrugs. She has to admit that she has yet to eat Terran food that's shaped like a person, but she has had cookies shaped like animals and macaroni shaped like the ships from Star Wars. So it doesn't seem so farfetched to her. “Perhaps it's a sort of tribute. And I am not sure ‘deity’ is exactly how I would describe Santa Claus. I think he is more of a...mythological figure, I guess.”

Outside there's the sound of uproarious laughter, and Gamora looks out just in time to see Peter land on his ass in a drift of snow. She feels a momentary tug of concern, but he's laughing too, a strand of lights on top of him and snow getting caught in his hair. She shakes her head, filled with affection. 

“Your husband is an oaf,” says Nebula. 

“Nebula,” Gamora says warningly. “He has been good to you. And me.”

Nebula thankfully seems to recognize her tone and keeps any further insults to herself, but that doesn’t stop her from muttering, “He has turned you from a warrior into a--a cookie baker.” 

“I am still a warrior,” Gamora says softly. She thinks of all the futures she saw where the team retired, including the one where they settled down here; the idea of not fighting for her entire life is still somewhat foreign to her, but much less so as time goes on. “But that is not all I am anymore. Peter has helped me discover so many other things about myself, and so many other things that make life enjoyable.”

“Like eating globs of sugar and fat?” Nebula says, gesturing derisively at the dough. 

“Like desserts, yes,” Gamora says. “Food can be one of the most enjoyable aspects of life.”

“Food is a necessity,” Nebula says mechanically. 

Gamora represses a despondent sigh, recognizing the words and the attitude behind them immediately. Years ago, before Peter and the Guardians, food had been only a necessity for her too, because that’s all Thanos allowed it to be. They were allowed only rations that held the exact amount of calories and nutrients necessary to keep their bodies in fighting shape. There was no pleasure to be had from eating, only sustenance. 

“True,” Gamora agrees. “But it doesn’t have to be only that. Just as I am not _only_ a warrior. That idea that there is only one correct path for us -- That’s Thanos talking, Nebula. And he is dead.”

“I can redirect my purpose without changing it,” says Nebula. That’s been her party line since the battle ended, since Gamora first suggested to her that she might have a choice. It’s starting to sound tired, like the rest of her defensive rhetoric. Gamora hopes that might mean it could change soon.

“True,” Gamora says again. “But you don’t have to decide that right now. You can bake cookies and decorate for Christmas for a couple of days and then go right back to being a single-minded vengeance machine if that’s what you want.”

“I am not a machine,” Nebula snaps, and Gamora realizes her mistake in choice of words immediately. 

“It was a figure of speech,” she says quickly. “You know that I know you are no more machine than I am.”

Nebula glares at her, then says, “Are we going to cut these dumb shapes or not?”

Gamora bites her lip, feeling terrible. If Nebula is willing to change the subject back to baking cookies, she must have been honestly hurt. It’s not that Gamora is unaware her sister has feelings that run just as deeply as hers, but she is occasionally still careless with her word choice, falling back into old patterns of arguing the two of them haven’t managed to kick yet. She’s unsure if they ever will, completely. 

“I’m sorry,” Gamora says, putting her hand on Nebula’s tense shoulder. “You are not a machine. I just don’t want one purpose to consume you for your entire life when there’s so much more out there for you.” 

Nebula doesn’t quite shake her off, but she holds out a Christmas tree cookie cutter toward her, continuing to glare at her until she sighs and takes it. Apparently this is not the time to talk about that. 

“Making cookies is a good start, anyway.” She sets the tree down on the edge of the dough and presses down. “Like that.” 

Nebula watches as Gamora takes the newly-shaped dough and puts it on the baking sheet. “I do enjoy cutting things,” she allows, a concession. Maybe she’s recognized this dynamic too, and maybe she’s decided that she would rather do something other than argue. Not that she’ll ever admit it in as many words.

“Exactly!” Gamora says brightly. “Cutting is a large part of baking! And cooking! Sometimes you also get to pound things. Or hit the meat with a mallet.”

“I am not going to become a cook,” says Nebula. “Or a cookie baker.”

“That’s okay,” Gamora agrees easily, cutting out another tree. “Drax already has that title anyway.”

“My cookies will be the shape of the Terran God of Christmas,” says Nebula, swerving topics abruptly. 

“Yes, that is the cutter you have,” Gamora agrees, unsure where this is going.

“That means my cookies will be better than yours,” Nebula finishes, shouldering her out of the way and viciously cutting out a Santa Claus cookie with far more force and zeal than necessary.

Still, Gamora laughs gently, both at how predictable this is and at the fact that Nebula finally seems the tiniest bit invested in something here. “Yes. I guess it does.”

Nebula cuts her cookies so quickly and ruthlessly that they end up misshapen, ripped in some places, but Gamora chooses not to comment. The fact that she’s even doing this means far more to her than the shape of a cookie. 

Gamora makes some space next to her so she can cut out more trees, slower and more carefully than her sister. 

“There are others shapes too, you know,” she says, switching out her tree one for one that she believes Peter had called a candy cane. 

Nebula spares a glance at it and sneers. “You will not distract me with your substandard shapes, sister.” 

“I’m merely showing you more options,” Gamora says mildly, but Nebula remains single-minded in her pursuit of Santa Claus cookies. When Gamora has to re-roll the remaining dough in order to get a few more cookies out of it, Nebula stands at the ready with her cutter and slams it down onto the dough the second Gamora pulls the rolling pin away. 

“Careful!” Gamora says, laughing. “You could have turned my hand into Santa Claus.”

Nebula just smirks. 

The sound of loud laughter carries into them from outside the window, followed by the sound of Rocket yelling, _”That is the most hideous thing I have ever seen!_ ” 

They must be setting up their inflatable selves. She steps away from the cookies to peer further out the window. The sun is going down, though it isn’t quite dark yet. And it’s started to snow more heavily. That combination sends the beginning of a knot coiling up in the pit of her stomach as she can’t help thinking of Vormir and the Stone. It doesn’t help that they’ve avoided all snowy places since then. 

“Hey,” Nebula breaks in. “You forced me to do this and now you aren’t even listening.”

Gamora shakes herself as she realizes that Nebula’s been speaking and she hasn’t registered a word of it. “Sorry, sorry. What were you saying?”

“I _said_ ,” Nebula repeats forcefully, “that I win. I have made more cookies than you.”

Gamora glances at the cookies and sees that she’s right -- there are definitely more Santa Clauses than other shapes. She squelches the familiar urge to win, to perhaps grab a couple of Nebula’s cookies and roll them back into a flat sheet for reshaping. That is an old habit, and not the relationship she wants to have with her sister. “It isn’t a competition.”

Nebula offers her a shit-eating grin. “Then you must not mind that I have won.”

Gamora grins back, pleased by her sister’s happiness; even if she’s totally wrong. “You can’t win something if it’s not—“ 

_”Gamora!”_ comes a shout from outside, Peter’s voice so urgent and loud that Gamora’s head immediately snaps back toward the window; she can’t see him. _”Gamora! Nebula! Get out here!”_

Before he’s finished shouting, and before Nebula seems to have registered what’s happening, Gamora is running out of the kitchen, heart pounding. 

Outside it’s cold and getting closer to dark, and still snowing. Even though she’s less sensitive to cold than most, she should probably be wearing a warmer jacket than her typical one, but she has no time for that when Peter needs her; that had definitely been a _Gamora, hurry, I need you!_ yell. 

When she bursts through the door to the front yard, though, she sees nothing to indicate any danger or injury. Her eyes go right to Peter, standing in front of the giant inflatable version of the team, looking perfectly fine. Grandpa Quill is next to him. Rocket is attached to an aerorig, hovering up near the far corner of the roof. Mantis and Drax are sticking large, plastic candy canes in the ground with seemingly no plan or final appearance in mind. Groot is sprawled across a snow-covered lawn chair, video game in his gloved hands. 

There is no cause for alarm that she can see. 

Nebula comes running up behind her seconds later, cookie-cutter still in hand. “What is it? What is happening?”

“I don’t know,” says Gamora. She takes a few steps closer to Peter, on alert. Her sword is still at her hip, partly because she doesn’t go anywhere without it and partly because it was necessary to sell the idea of this being a mission to Nebula. She’s glad it’s there now, though, because she’s entirely prepared to use it once she finds out what the emergency is.

“Hey!” says Peter, holding out an arm for her as she approaches. 

“What is going on?” she asks, now equal parts alarmed and suspicious. She’s pretty sure this isn’t also a trick for her, but not _entirely_ sure. 

“We’re gonna turn the lights on!” he says excitedly, apparently unaware of the protective instincts he’s triggered in her. “I wanted you to see!”

Gamora blinks, speechless as she tries to readjust. He seems absolutely genuine, and absolutely oblivious. She glares at him. “I thought you were under attack. Or injured.”

He furrows his brow, slowly dropping his arm as he takes in her mood. “What? Why would you think that?” 

Nebula, arms crossed a little ways behind them, answers for her. “Because you squealed our names like a frightened Orloni?” 

“I did not!” Peter protests, but frowns when Gamora doesn’t disagree. “Oh. Hey, I’m sorry, Mora, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just wanted you to see it when -- whoa, what are you--?” 

He’s cut off when, lightning quick, Gamora reaches down to scoop up a handful of snow, packing it in two quick movements and lobbing it with expert aim so it hits him right in the neck. 

He really does squeal now, but he’s laughing too, doing a dance as he tries to shake out the snow that’s fallen down his collar. “Gamora!” 

Nebula actually laughs -- or half laughs, as she’s trying her best to suppress it. 

“That’s what you get,” Gamora concludes, satisfied. 

Then she hears loud laughter from behind her, and she turns in time to see Drax and Mantis cackling and packing snowballs in their hands. 

“No, no, guys,” she says quickly. “This isn’t a--”

“Snowball fight!” Drax bellows, throwing his with all his might in their direction. Gamora ducks and this one hits Peter in the chest. 

He throws his arms up and grins at Gamora. “Look what you’ve done, babe!” 

She shrugs, pleased with his grin and the amount of snow melting down his front. “No, I believe this is your fault.”

“My sister knows no mercy,” says Nebula, reaching down to pack her own handful of snow. 

“Well,” Peter says gamely, “snowball fights are very serious business. I would expect nothing less.”

Then he grabs his own snowball with truly impressive speed and throws it at Nebula. Somehow she's so surprised at his audacity that she completely forgets to dodge, and it hits her squarely in the shoulder. 

Nebula growls, strides up to him, and dumps her handful of snow over his head. 

Peter sputters, laughs, then offers a hand for a high five. 

“No,” says Nebula. “This is a battle. I am not doing that.”

Gamora is about to respond but she doesn't get the chance, tandem snowballs from Mantis and Drax hitting her between the shoulderblades. 

“Oh, I’m far too old for this,” Grandpa Quill mutters, backing away behind the inflatables. 

“Nonsense!” Peter says. “You’re never too old for snowball fights!”

Gamora is too busy with her revenge to help convince him; she whips around, scooping up two handfuls of snow as she turns. “I see how it’s going to be.” 

“You started it!” Mantis declares with a giggle. She and Drax take off running, but Gamora’s aim is true even throwing two at a time: they are each hit square on the back. 

“What are you morons doing now?” Rocket calls, flying down. They’ve finally made enough of a ruckus to get Groot to glance up from his game, though he remains stubbornly seated. 

“We are engaging in physical combat with balls of snow!” Drax yells, attempting to throw one up at Rocket, who dodges it easily. “No fair! Flying is cheating!” 

Gamora is about to throw one at him too when she feels yet _another_ snowball between her shoulders, and there can only be one culprit. 

“Peter Quill,” she says with a dangerous smile. He’s whistling innocently, hands behind his back. 

“What?” he asks, patented _’Who, me?’_ expression firmly in place. “It was my grandpa!” He points behind him, where Grandpa Quill is standing with his hands up. 

“Oh, I’m sure,” Gamora says. Then from the corner of her eye she sees quick movement. She’s already ducking but there was no need; this snowball sails past her and hits Peter square in the face, leaving him sputtering. 

Nebula, smirking triumphantly and tossing a snowball up and down in one hand, says, “It was your grandfather.” 

“Still too old for this,” says Grandpa Quill, backing up even further. “In fact a few minutes older than I was a few minutes ago.” 

Gamora grabs another snowball and throws it at Peter. It hits him in the chest again, and she grins. “That was _me_.”

Then it’s an all-out war. Peter attempts to retaliate, but Nebula gets him in the back of the head before he’s had a chance. 

Drax scoops up an armful of snow and attempts to throw it without packing it into a ball at all. The slight wind blows it back in his face, and Groot snickers. Apparently realizing his error, this time Drax smashes the snow between his palms before throwing it at Groot’s chair. Groot puts up a vine to snatch it out of the air, but the snowball flies apart, managing to actually hit him at least a little. Then Rocket swoops in from above, snowballing Groot in the back, still suspended by the aero-rig.

“I am Groot!” he yells in protest, curling protectively around his video game. 

“You are _too_ going to play!” Drax says, throwing another one at him. 

Meanwhile, Gamora scoops up two more handfuls and backs up towards Nebula, who gives her a slightly suspicious look. 

“What do you say, sister?” Gamora says, tossing one of her snowballs up in the air to catch it, as Nebula had done earlier. “Wanna destroy them?” 

Nebula considers the snowball she’s holding in her own hand, and for a moment Gamora is sure she’s going to throw it at her face and says everyone for themselves. But instead she smirks, and there’s genuine joy in her eyes. “You may _assist_ me in destroying them.” 

Gamora nods once, deciding she will take that. “Rocket first,” she whispers. 

“With pleasure.” 

Between them they throw four snowballs at him at once, all of them hitting him in various places despite his attempt to roll through the air to avoid them. “Hey!” he yells in protest. 

“They’re ganging up on us!” Peter yells, throwing one in their direction. 

Gamora narrows her eyes at him, though she’s not surprised that he figured it out so quickly. She throws another snowball at him and he ducks, so that it just skims the top of his hair. 

“Ha!” he laughs, pointing at her in triumph — until the one Nebula throws hits him in the chin. 

“Take him down!” says Gamora, pointing at Peter. They might be married, but she’s certainly not above doing whatever it takes to best him in a game like this. Particularly when it means getting to have her sister as an ally.

“No you don’t!” says Peter, throwing another snowball at her. 

Gamora ducks and lets Nebula take over, striking him in the chest again. She seems to have found her inner relentlessness, moving slowly and deliberately toward him. Every few steps she stoops to scoop up more snow, packs it quickly, and throws it at him. All of them land, even as Peter manages to get a few hits of his own in.

Letting Nebula continue to occupy his attention, Gamora slips around the side, making sure she’s in his peripheral vision for as much of the movement as possible. Then, just before Nebula reaches point-blank range, she tackles Peter, sweeping his knees with one leg, so that he falls over into a snow bank with Gamora on top of him.

“Traitor!” says Peter, laughing and tucking a few loose curls behind her ear.

“My sister and I are warriors, you know,” she says, smiling fondly at him. His cheeks are flushed pink, and he’s got snow flecked all through his hair. Much as he loves to call her adorable, she knows who the real adorable one is. “We can’t help it.” 

She also can’t help kissing him, much to Nebula’s annoyance. 

“Are you kidding me?” she says, the eye-roll apparent in her tone. “We’ve got people to vanquish here! There’s no time to be disgusting!” 

“There’s always time to be disgusting,” Peter says sincerely. 

“She may have a point,” Gamora says with a shiver. The adrenaline from her fear of danger earlier and the exhilaration from competition are beginning to fade, and it seems her body is suddenly remembering how cold it is. 

“Hey,” Peter says with concern. He touches her cheek with a gloved hand, which only makes her shiver more because it’s covered in snow. He takes it away quickly. “You’re not really dressed for this.”

“I regulate my body temperature much better than Terrans,” she says automatically, though she is really regretting tackling him now, as she’s basically surrounded by snow. 

“He is just trying to talk us out of kicking everyone’s asses!” Nebula exclaims, still throwing snowballs at the others. 

“Nebula,” says Gamora, her teeth chattering as a rather violent shiver runs through her. 

Nebula doesn’t notice, though, off to attack Rocket and Groot.

Peter gets up, shakes off the snow, then puts out a hand to help Gamora to her feet as well. She allows herself to be helped, intending to tell him that she doesn’t need anything further. But before she can say it, he’s taking off his coat and wrapping it around her with the same misguided certainty he’d had in giving her his mask in the middle of open space four years ago.

“Peter,” she protests, as he immediately starts to shiver instead. “This is not a solution.”

“I’m fine,” he says stubbornly.

Gamora sighs, putting the coat over her shoulders and holding out one side of it, intending to share. “Come here.”

Peter offers her a shit-eating grin and wraps his arm around her to huddle under the coat. “Oh my god, babe. We could totally be in a Christmas movie right now.”

“Oh, really?” Gamora murmurs, cuddling as close as she can. She enjoys his body heat and his touch more than the coat; he’s got both arms on her back now, rubbing up and down to warm her up. 

“Mhmm,” he says. “In the mushy parts I always used to look away from.” 

“Are we _mushy_?” she asks, amused. 

“Very mushy,” he says happily, face close. They barely have time for their lips to brush before Nebula interrupts. 

“Gamora!” she yells, from where she’s currently pelting Rocket with snowballs. “I am turning on you next if you don’t re-focus!”

Gamora’s eyes widen, but that’s got nothing to do with Nebula’s threat. Next to her, Groot has finally stood up and has a very determined look on his face. He’s grown several extra vines from his torso, using those and both his arms to pick up as much snow as he can. They’re all about twenty seconds away from getting pelted relentlessly. 

“Oh shit,” Peter mutters, apparently seeing the same thing. Louder, he says, “Okay, guys, I think that’s enough!” 

“It is never enough!” Drax declares. He and Mantis are just throwing snowballs back and forth at each other now; some of them don’t even miss. 

Peter sighs. Gamora is considering whether it’s worth it to pull away and use her _no nonsense, you’re all in trouble_ voice -- so named by Peter -- when Grandpa Quill solves the problem for her. 

“All right!” he calls out from the porch. He's got the ends of two long cords in his hands. “Enough snowballs for now! It's time to light this place up!”

Mantis and Drax drop their snowballs immediately, turning to face him as though they've never considered paying attention to anything else. Rocket takes to the air again, landing on the porch next to Grandpa Quill. Groot pelts Nebula with roughly a dozen snowballs simultaneously, then also runs up the steps toward the house, taking refuge behind them. 

Nebula glares, considers, then throws her own snow back to the ground with a growl, evidently deciding that she isn't going to risk Grandpa Quill becoming collateral damage. Still, she throws a venomous look over her shoulder at Gamora and Peter, mouthing “ _later._ ”

“Count me down,” says Grandpa Quill.

Gamora leans into Peter and counts with the others. On “three,” he plugs the cords into one another and the lights come to life. The icicles glow from the edges of the roof and down the sides of the porch, illuminating the yard like someone’s grabbed all the stars from the sky.

“Oh,” she murmurs, breathless again. “Oh, it’s _beautiful._ ” She thinks fleetingly of the Soul Stone, of the dark and the solitude and the utter hopelessness. Of how she never expected to have a chance to see such wonder again.

“ _You’re_ beautiful,” says Peter, and kisses her.

“Ugh,” says Nebula, and marches back into the house.


	2. Chapter 2

Gamora knows what Peter has got planned the second he makes the two of them hang back in the kitchen, letting the others make their way out with their hot chocolates first. She indulges him anyway, not saying anything as they fall in line behind everyone else. 

“Babe, wait,” Peter says with a fake gasp once they’re under the archway that leads to the rest of the house. “Look!” 

He nods up to the ceiling and Gamora looks, though she knows exactly what she’s going to find. 

“Wow,” she says with poorly-feigned surprise. “Mistletoe.”

“I wonder how that got there!” Peter says as if deeply puzzled. 

“Probably the same way the other ten we’ve ended up under in the past hour got there,” Gamora says, poking him in the side with her free hand.

He giggles adorably. “Probably an elf.” 

“Well, according to _you_ , we are _all_ dressed like elves right now,” she points out, looking him up and down. They’d all gotten matching pajamas at Wal-Mart, and managed to convince everyone to wear them -- even Nebula. Drax had skipped the green top of course, is wearing only the striped pants, which Gamora thinks makes him look even more ridiculous. 

“Could have been any of us then,” Peter says sagely. 

“Peter,” she says with a smirk. “We’re married. If you want a kiss, you can just ask for one. Or ten.” 

“But it’s Christmas,” he says, jutting out his lower lip dramatically. “You can’t have Christmas kisses without mistletoe.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Is there something special about Christmas kisses?”

“Yes,” Peter says immediately, but doesn't elaborate. She knows he wants her to ask for further details, is practically vibrating with anticipation of it. Exactly how she imagines he must have looked as a child, preparing to open his Christmas gifts then. 

She rolls her eyes indulgently. “What is different about Christmas kisses, Peter?”

“You give them under the mistletoe!” he says immediately, clearly delighted. 

She sighs despairingly. “Oh my _god,_ Peter.”

“You love me.” He beams and leans in to kiss her, shifting them both so that the mistletoe is directly overhead.

“I do,” she agrees, wrapping her arms around his neck and lingering, as if she wasn't just pretending to be grumpy about this situation. He is warm and happy and ridiculous -- all of her favorite ways for him to be. 

Gamora lets herself get carried away, so this kiss gets a little more enthusiastic than their other _Christmas kisses_. It might go on even longer, except that suddenly Peter is tightening his arms around her and she feels something hot against her neck. It’s not hot enough to burn, but Gamora knows what it is immediately and she has to pull back to laugh. 

“Peter,” she says, moving her head to the side. “You’re pressing your mug against my neck.” 

“Oh, shit!” he says, taking his arms away and looking at his hot chocolate as if it’s betrayed him. “Sorry, babe.” 

“It didn’t hurt,” she assures him, patting his shoulder. “But perhaps we should rejoin the others now. I’m sure there’s more mistletoe that mysterious elf has spread around somewhere.” 

He smirks. “Elves are mischievous that way.”

They end up underneath one more sprig on their -- very short -- journey to the living room. This kiss stays quick and relatively chaste, then they make it to the living room where all the others are already gathered. 

Grandpa Quill and Rocket are by the tree, working on getting the lights wrapped around it. It seems to be a difficult task, because the tree they got is so small, it’s needles sparse. The selection at the tree tent they’d stopped at had been pretty limited, but there _were_ bigger and prettier trees than this one. Still, Gamora is pleased with their choice. It fits in with them.

The others are all spread out in the small living room. Groot and Mantis are rifling through a pile of Wal-Mart bags, presumably full of the ornaments they’d gotten. Drax is off to the side chugging his hot chocolate, and Nebula is sitting on the couch, holding her mug stiffly, watching them all with a stubbornly neutral expression. 

“How is your hot chocolate?” Gamora asks, though she can see perfectly well that Nebula hasn’t even tasted it yet. She’s denying herself, just like she did with the cookies. Just like she does with anything that might be even remotely enjoyable. Almost as though she feels beholden to punish herself on behalf of Thanos, even after his death.

“It is perfectly adequate,” says Nebula, glancing at her mug like it might bite her.

Gamora takes a sip of her own hot chocolate and lets her eyes fall closed for a moment in appreciation, suppressing an actual moan. It would definitely amuse and please Peter, but she has the feeling that it would make her sister even less open to trying it. 

“Mine is better than adequate,” says Gamora, attempting to appeal to her competitiveness instead. It’s true, though: She’s had hot chocolate all over the galaxy, but nobody else makes it quite like this.

“Try it now,” says Rocket, from his place by the tree. He’s been finagling a set of wires that are presumably attached to the lights.

“All right, here we go,” says Grandpa Quill.

For an instant Gamora expects the whole thing to blow up, or perhaps shower them in sparks, just because Rocket’s been involved in the project. But the only thing that emanates from the tree is another set of lights exquisite enough to make her catch her breath.

“I am not sure I trust your recommendation, sister,” Nebula says dryly, “if you are so easily impressed.”

“The lights are beautiful,” Peter says protectively, throwing an arm around Gamora’s shoulder. “And hot chocolate is the greatest drink the galaxy has ever invented.” 

“I trust your recommendations even less,” Nebula sneers. 

Groot glances over at her, a string of garland in one hand and his mug in the other. He smirks. “I am Groot?” 

“I am not a chicken,” Nebula says, affronted but also confused. 

Gamora represses a laugh. 

Peter tries, but he’s less successful. “It means you’re scaaaaared,” he sing-songs. 

Drax laughs loudly and points. “You are afraid of a drink!” 

“I am not!” Nebula snaps. 

“Then why not try it?” Gamora goads, but in a gentler tone. She doesn’t want to push her sister too hard, but if she doesn’t push a little she’ll never let herself have anything good. 

“Because it is stupid,” Nebula growls, but her hand tightens around the mug. 

“I promise you, this stuff is good,” Grandpa Quill says, coming to stand next to her. “I don’t get that new, packaged crap they sell in the stores. This is _real_ hot chocolate.”

Nebula’s mouth twists, fighting off either a scowl or a smile, Gamora’s not sure which. Knowing her, probably some bizarre combination of both.

“I was not aware there was such a thing as _fake_ hot chocolate,” she says finally. It’s not clear whether she’s talking to Grandpa Quill or simply making a statement to herself, but he answers anyway.

“Oh yeah! Boxed stuff that claims to be hot chocolate. Really it’s just some powder filled with artificial flavors. Makes nothin’ but a watery mess. Or a milky one if you use milk.”

“We had some of that on the ship once,” says Peter. “It was supposed to be like...freeze-dried, and you could reconstitute it with warm water.” He breaks off and shudders for dramatic effect. “Disgusting, disgusting excuse for chocolate.”

“Exactly,” says Gamora, taking another sip and grinning at Grandpa Quill. “This is the best of the best.”

“I stocked up just for you,” he says, smiling right back.

“Ugh,” says Nebula, glowering into her mug. “Fine. _Fine!_ If I try it, will you shut up about it?”

“Scout’s honor,” says Peter, holding up a hand.

Gamora nods, and doesn’t bother to tell her sister that the next part of this act is him saying _’too bad I was a Ravager, not a scout.’_

“Fine,” Nebula repeats, then takes a sip quickly, like she’s ripping off a band-aid. Gamora watches her face carefully, knowing she’s going to try to hide it if she enjoys it.

Sure enough, her eyes widen just the slightest bit as she tastes it, before she quickly schools her expression back into an imitation of a scowl. But Gamora recognizes the enjoyment she’d tried to hide, though she may be the only one who can. Except perhaps Peter; that’s probably more from reading _her_ expression than Nebula’s, though. 

“So?” Mantis asks eagerly. “What do you think?”

“It is not terrible,” Nebula says flatly. She’s holding the mug much closer than she was a few seconds ago, but refuses to let herself take another drink. “But I do not see what the big deal is.” 

Gamora shakes her head but lets it go. She tried it, and Gamora knows she enjoyed it, so she’ll take that as a victory. 

“You know what else isn’t terrible?” Peter says, gesturing with a flourish to their little misfit tree, as he’d called it proudly when they selected it from the tent. “Decorating a Christmas tree!” 

“I already did my part,” Rocket says, sitting on the couch with his arms crossed. “You morons can put the little shiny things on it.” 

“But hanging ornaments is a _family_ tradition,” Mantis says, looking at Peter for confirmation. “Isn’t it?”

“Yes it is!” Peter declares, grabbing one of the Wal-Mart bags. “So the whole family is gonna participate.” 

“I am not going to participate,” says Nebula, immediately. Her disagreements are like clockwork, really. If she wasn’t so worried about unintentionally hurting her sister, Gamora would be tempted to try reverse psychology and tell her that she isn’t allowed to join them. That feels manipulative, though, and not in a way that’s for her own good.

“You can do these,” Peter tells Rocket, handing him a container of small gold balls. He’s pointedly ignoring Nebula now, perhaps for similar reasons. “Pretend you stole them or something and now you’re putting them out to brag.”

“Maybe I _did_ steal them,” says Rocket, taking the ornaments anyway.

“He did not steal them,” says Mantis, helpfully. She’s got a packet of hooks which she appears to be hanging on the tree without any ornaments attached.

“No!” Drax agrees, then points to another bag. “He stole those!”

“Rocket,” Gamora sighs, though it’s not like she’s surprised. Rocket stealing things is about as consistent as Drax being loud or Mantis being sweet. She doesn’t think she’ll ever approve, but she knows that in the long-run, Rocket does far more good than harm. And she loves him besides.

“Ah, come on,” he shrugs. “This stuff was _everywhere._ They’re practically _asking_ for someone to steal it.”

Grandpa Quill takes the bag and looks in it curiously, then laughs as he pulls out a box of candy canes that are apparently flavored like something called _Jelly Belly_. “They do have this stuff everywhere.” 

“Oh!” Peter says eagerly, taking another box out of the bag, these ones _Warheads_ flavored. “We can hang these on the tree too, and then we can eat them! Edible ornaments!” He hands the box to Groot. “You can do these!” 

“I am Groot,” he mutters, only minimally surly. 

“Yes, it _is_ an honor,” Peter says sincerely. 

Groot rips open the packaging and sticks one of the candy canes in his mouth before starting to hang the rest. Gamora smiles fondly; he is very like Peter sometimes. 

She grabs one of the other bags so she can look through it for something Nebula might be willing to hang. This bag is an assortment of loose ornaments that all look wildly different. 

“Are these all traditional ornaments?” she asks, showing the bag to Peter.

He peers in and laughs. “Ornaments come in all shapes and sizes!”

“Well, what is _this_?” she asks, taking out what looks like a strange yellow brick with a face. And a tie. 

“Uh,” says Peter, examining it. He gets the expression she’s come to recognize as his ‘fractured memories of Earth’ face. The information that follows it could be the truth or it could be a ridiculously manufactured story. In rare instances, it might be an admission that he doesn’t remember.

This time, Grandpa Quill jumps in and saves him from having to choose any of those options. “That’s Spongebob! He’s a sponge that lives in the ocean.” He shakes his head as if realizing what he’s just said, then scratches his head exactly the way Peter does when he’s done something awkward. “It’s from a children’s show.”

“He is clearly an alien,” says Drax. “Quill, why did you not tell us that aliens served as entertainment for your young ones?”

“They don’t,” says Peter. He sounds pretty sure about that. 

“He’s a cartoon character,” says Grandpa Quill. “As in, someone draws him. He’s not real.”

“I would like to be a children’s character!” says Drax.

Mantis pulls out another ornament and gasps, hand over her mouth. “Is that--”

Rocket snorts. “It’s Drax’s turd with eyes!”

Drax laughs raucously, pointing to the strangely shaped ornament that is unmistakably supposed to be poop, despite the smiling face painted over it. “My turds are much larger than that!” 

“That is disgusting,” Nebula says, lip curled. She’s still got her mug in her hand, but Gamora is delighted to notice that it’s totally empty: she must have downed it all in less than a minute. _Not terrible_ seems to be pretty good, then. 

“Look at this one!” Peter says gleefully, pulling out another ornament that’s the same shape, but very different color. “It’s a rainbow Drax turd!” 

This makes Drax laugh even harder, and Mantis as well. Groot shakes his head but he’s definitely trying to hide a smile as he fulfils his candy cane duty. Even Rocket smirks. 

Grandpa Quill looks horrified, though Gamora’s pretty sure it’s less about this conversation than it is about the ornament itself, judging by the way he’s looking at it. 

“Why does that thing even exist?” he asks, sounding genuinely baffled. 

“Because this planet is full of ridiculous junk,” Nebula mutters. 

“Perhaps it is because some Terran creatures poop rainbows,” Mantis suggests earnestly, looking to Peter for confirmation. 

“No, they don’t,” he says. He sounds confident, but Gamora sees him glance at his grandpa, who nods. 

“What about unicorns?” asks Drax, perfectly serious. “I recall Quill telling us that they ‘puke rainbows.’ Does it not stand to reason that their turds would also--”

“Hey idiot!” Rocket interrupts, fortunately sparing them more immediate discussion of turds. “Did you miss the part where Quill also told us that unicorns aren’t real? They’re another made up thing, because apparently Terrans would rather ignore the existence of the rest of the galaxy and make up a buncha dumb nonsense.”

“Hey!” Peter bristles, but this time Drax barrels on through before he can get truly defensive.

“Clearly I did miss that part,” says Drax. “I was probably thinking about rainbow vomit.”

“Can we stop talking about bodily fluids?” Gamora attempts to interrupt.

“Turds are not fluids,” Drax says predictably. “Well, perhaps some are, but--”

“Hey look!” Peter exclaims loudly, quickly hanging the rainbow turd ornament on the back of the tree. He grabs another bag. “More ornaments! Gamora, do you wanna do these?”

“Yes, thank you,” she says pointedly, hoping that will put an end to the bathroom humor, at least for the moment. She opens the bag and genuinely grins. Inside are three ornaments shaped like candy bars: one that says Hershey’s, one Snickers, and another Reese’s. Her mouth waters a bit even though she knows they’re fake.

“I am Groot,” says Groot, gesturing toward the bag a bit shyly.

Her smile gets even bigger. “Thank you! They _are_ my favorites.” 

Peter squeezes Groot in a one-armed hug. “That was sweet, bud! Good choices!” 

Groot grumbles incoherently and squirms away, pulling at the sleeves of his pajamas awkwardly. Gamora knows how much he dislikes wearing clothes but, though they told him he didn’t have to, he’d put them on anyway. Peter took about a dozen pictures before Groot threatened to take them off if he didn’t stop. 

Before she starts hanging up her candy ornaments, she rifles through the rest in the bag, still determined to find one for Nebula. She nearly gasps aloud when she comes across one so perfect, she knows it had to have been a deliberate choice.

“Did you pick this one out too?” she asks Groot, showing him the horse ornament. 

He shrugs and scoots as far behind the tree as he can, avoiding eye contact with everyone as he hangs more candy canes on the back of the tree.

That means _yes_.

Gamora decides to have mercy on him and turns to Nebula instead, holding the ornament out towards her. “Here. You can hang this one.”

“Fantastic,” Nebula says dryly, not taking it. “Another plastic horse to match the children’s toy you got me from your road trip.” 

“Come on,” Peter cajoles. “It’s one ornament! Everyone’s gotta do at least one, it’s tradition.”

“I do not care about your dumb Terran traditions,” she says.

“It’s fun!” Mantis says earnestly. She’s managed to chain together a large string of empty hooks that she’s now draping over the tree like garland. The real garland is tied around the base of the tree in a terrible attempt at a bow; Gamora’s not sure who’s responsible for that. 

Grandpa Quill is mostly hanging back with his own hot chocolate, watching them. Gamora wonders for a moment whether this makes him happy or sad -- She knows that he must be remembering his own traditions with his own family, and seeing them sort of butchered now by his new one. Probably a mix, then, she decides. That’s certainly how she feels, thinking about the many different phases of her life. 

“If you hang that,” Gamora says, turning her attention back to Nebula and the present moment, “I will go and make you more hot chocolate.”

“I do not care about fun or hot chocolate,” Nebula insists, now sounding every bit as petulant as Groot at his peak teenage angst.

“If you hang it,” says Peter, “I’ll leave you alone.”

Nebula stands up at that, snatching the ornament from Gamora’s hand. “ _That_ is a bargain I will take.” She regards the horse for a moment, then the tree, choosing a spot near the top where it will be easy to see. Because clearly she doesn’t care at all.

“...for about five minutes!” Peter adds belatedly, then scurries under the mistletoe he’s hung near the living room doorway.

“ _That_ dumb Terran tradition will not protect you,” Nebula says fiercely, though she doesn’t approach him. Of course, she knows all about that tradition by now, with how many times she’s walked away rolling her eyes while Peter and Gamora have upheld it today. 

“Gamora will protect me, though,” Peter says with a winning smile. 

“Perhaps,” Gamora says playfully, hanging one of her candy ornaments near Nebula’s. 

“What’s that?” Peter says, squinting his eyes in feigned confusion. He cups his hand over his ear and leans towards her. “I can’t hear you. You’re gonna have to come closer.”

Gamora smirks at him. “Oh, am I?”

“Good lord!” Nebula throws her arms up in the air in exasperation. “This is _worse_!” She marches back to the couch and throws herself on it dramatically. 

“He is only pretending not to hear you!” Drax says, pointing at Peter. “He wants you to have to kiss him!”

“Wow, really?” Rocket says sarcastically. “Great detective work, genius.”

“ _Have to_?” Peter says, mock-affronted. “More like _gets to_.” 

Groot makes a face. “I am Groot.” 

“When have they _ever_ stopped it with the mushy stuff?” Rocket snorts. 

“I am _Groot,_ ” Groot says more pointedly, moving farther behind the Christmas tree again. It doesn’t do much to hide him, the meager branches leaving plenty of space to look through.

“For once,” says Nebula, “I agree with the tree. The one that’s _not_ fake.”

Groot peeks around the tree at that, giving her a shy but hopeful look. Gamora can’t help smiling at that, though she knows neither one of them will appreciate it. Despite what anyone else might think, it pleases Gamora to no end that he looks up to Nebula as his cool aunt.

She decides to take pity on them, going over to Peter and giving him a very quick peck on the lips. He pouts immediately, which makes it very hard to resist kissing him again. She does, though, because she’s strong.

“Peter,” she says gently, taking his arm. “Let’s do some more decorations.”

He sighs, but gets with the program pretty quickly. “Okay. What’s next?”

Before anybody else can respond, Grandpa Quill speaks up, his voice quiet but clear. “Actually, I--I’ve got some I think you should hang. I meant to show you sooner, but…” He trails off, shrugs, then picks up a small, brown box off the coffee table that Gamora hadn’t paid any attention to before now.

Grandpa Quill takes a couple steps to stand in front of them. She can hear Peter’s heart pick up speed a little bit, so she squeezes his arm reassuringly. 

“I went looking in the attic while you were out shopping,” Grandpa Quill says, eyes on the box. “Looked through more of your mom’s old stuff, too. I know she had a lot more, but these were all the ones I could find.” 

He opens the box so they can peer inside, and Peter’s heart rate jumps even more. 

These ornaments look a lot different than the ones they’d gotten at Wal-Mart, and different from each other. They certainly look a lot older, and they’re made of different materials. She can guess the significance of them even before Peter gasps. 

“What is it?” Drax asks loudly, leaning over as if that will somehow enable him to see into the box from across the room and at entirely the wrong angle. “Is it more turds?”

“You are a turd,” Nebula tells him from the couch.

“I am not in that box,” says Drax, as if the only thing offensive about her insult is its lack of logic.

“Those are from your childhood, right?” Gamora says to Peter, rubbing his back and resting her other hand protectively under his where he’s holding the box. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him to hold onto it, but her reflexes kick in immediately around anything precious to him. 

“Yeah,” he breathes, holding up the first one very carefully. It looks like just a clear plastic ball filled with crumpled green paper. But as he turns it around, she realizes there’s a photograph inside of it too: a faded one of what she now recognizes as Peter in his childhood, and Meredith, looking radiant in front of a Christmas tree.

“You both look so happy,” says Gamora, and he nods, then offers the ornament to her. She takes it reverently and hangs it near the top of the tree, making very certain that it’s securely attached.

“It looks lovely there,” Mantis says solemnly. The others are uncharacteristically quiet, just watching. Groot’s come a little farther out from behind the tree. Even Nebula knows how important Peter’s mother is to him. 

The next one Peter pulls out is what resembles an inexpertly sewn Santa Claus head. At least, it’s got the red hat and the white beard, which are about the only things that make it recognizable. 

“Your mom made that when she was a kid,” Grandpa Quill says. “Your grandma was trying to teach her how to sew. She hated it.” He chuckles, the sound a little watery. “Kept that ornament, though.” 

“She liked having homemade ornaments on the tree,” Peter says softly, tracing his finger over the face of it. Then he hands it delicately to his grandpa. “You have to hang one too.”

“Oh, yes,” Grandpa Quill says gruffly. He clears his throat. “Tradition.”

He takes a moment examining the tree before hanging it in one of the only branches left without another ornament on it. It does have a candy cane, and Mantis’s hook garland, but it’s in front of those things, so it can be seen. 

Peter pulls out the next one, and Gamora has to resist the urge to reach out and touch it -- not that she thinks Peter wouldn’t want her to, but because it looks so old and delicate that she’s afraid one wrong touch would shatter it. 

It’s larger than the others and made out of beads, it seems, but Gamora’s not entirely sure what it’s supposed to be. There’s one large bead making a head, some smaller ones in the shape of a dress below it, and smaller ones still making wings behind it. Whatever it is, it’s beautiful. 

“It’s an angel,” says Peter, as if reading the question on her face. Which he probably is. He’s always been good at that. “The Terran form of one, anyway.”

Grandpa Quill shoots him a curious look at that. “Are there different kinds?”

Gamora nods. “Many cultures throughout the galaxy have similar words and concepts. But each is also specific to its contextual origin.”

“Terran angels are supposed to like...look out for the dead,” says Peter, though from his tone this is definitely one of his less certain memories. “Like...help you cross over into the afterlife when you die. You know, if there’s like -- a realm where they are, I guess the angels watch over that.” He’s careful not to mention the Soul Stone, she notices, though he’s never made any secret of his belief in some sort of afterlife. “Sometimes they help out the living too.”

“That used to go at the top of the tree,” says Grandpa Quill. “Do you want to put it there now, Peter?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, looking almost hesitantly between the tree and the angel. Gamora rubs his back and he offers her a smile. “My mom used to pick me up so I could reach the top.” 

He’ll need no such help here, Gamora thinks. Even if he wasn’t much taller now, this tree is quite a bit smaller than him. Only Rocket might have trouble reaching the top unaided. 

Gamora watches as Peter carefully puts the angel on top of the tree, having to readjust it and balance it several times, as it keeps trying to lean too far one way or another. The angel doesn’t look heavy at all, but the tree is so small and thin that it’s not up for supporting much. 

“There,” he says, after he’s stepped back from it for a few seconds without it trying to fall again. “Perfect!”

“It is surely the most beautiful Christmas tree that has ever existed!” Mantis says sincerely. 

Gamora takes it in; their scraggly little tree. Its branches are so thin that many of them are wilting under the weight of the ornaments that have been placed upon them -- though still holding up, she notes with an odd sense of pride. It’s absolutely crowded with ornaments, and they probably only have about half of them on so far. She’d seen other Christmas trees displayed in Wal-Mart, and in pictures, so she knows enough to recognize that this is not the typical Terran Christmas tree. 

She glances at Peter, concerned for a moment that he’s going to be disappointed that it’s not like the trees of his childhood, even though he’d helped pick this one out. 

He’s grinning though, proud and broad. He throws an arm around her shoulders to pull her close again as he takes in their half-completed tree. “Yes, it is. It’s ours.”

* * *

When Gamora wakes up before her usual hour, it takes her a moment to figure out what’s disturbed her. Surprisingly, in the months since her time in the Stone, she’s actually regained the ability to sleep rather well -- all things considered, at least. It’s still every few nights that either she or Peter -- or sometimes both of them, when the Universe is feeling particularly unkind -- will get caught in the throes of a nightmare. But really, she thinks it’s pretty impressive that either of them has any peaceful sleep after...everything.

Regardless, there’s no indication that that’s what’s awakened her now. Peter’s still sleeping like a log, arm thrown across her and snoring softly in the way she once found obnoxious and now considers a comfort. Her own dream was mundane, though she only remembers pieces of it now. She’d been braiding her hair in it, and incorporating miniature versions of some of the ornaments from the Christmas tree.

She watches Peter for a moment, looking for signs of a disturbed sleep and still seeing none. She pets his hair very softly, something he finds comforting even in sleep. He doesn’t move except for the rise and fall of his chest, and the gentle puffs of breath against her neck as he continues to snore. It’s so rhythmic, so familiar, so peaceful that it nearly lulls her back to sleep until she hears it: quiet noises from downstairs. 

It sounds like speech. She can’t make out the words, but she can identify the voice as Nebula’s, accompanied by frequent rustling noises. Tossing and turning. A nightmare. 

Gamora’s wide awake now. Without a second thought, she carefully extracts herself out from under Peter’s arm. He makes a tiny sound of protest at the loss of contact, but he smushes his face back against the pillow and remains fast asleep. She kisses his forehead before tip-toeing out of the room. 

Nebula is sleeping on the couch because she'd insisted. The farmhouse is large, particularly for Grandpa Quill to occupy on his own, but it's a stretch for their whole family to sleep in it. Most of the time sharing rooms is no big deal -- the place is still much larger than the Milano or the Benatar, after all. But Nebula, true to form, had scoffed at the idea of anything as vulnerable as sleeping in the same room as other people. Really it's kind of impressive that she's decided to sleep at all. 

She _is_ still asleep, though, when Gamora makes her way quietly down the stairs. The blanket and pillows Grandpa Quill gave her have been strewn all over the floor, and she's got both hands twisted into the upholstery of the old couch, digging at it. She's still muttering to herself too, though Gamora can't entirely make out the words even at this distance. 

“Nebula,” she whispers, instantly on the alert for her sister's reaction.

She sits up instantly, eyes wide open, baton in hand so quickly she must have slept with it on her. Possibly _in_ her hand. Sleeping with a weapon was a necessity under Thanos, a habit that took Gamora a long time to kick. Even now, she always sleeps with one within arm’s reach, but Peter does the same thing. 

Nebula is panting, weapon at the ready for attackers she’s clearly expecting. She seems to be half in her nightmare still, probably not helped by how dark it is in here. 

“Nebula,” Gamora repeats, louder, to ground her sister as she turns one of the lamps on. 

Her head whips around, and Gamora can see her shoulders relax when she recognizes her. Her expression only turns angrier, though. 

“What are you doing down here?” she hisses, throwing the blanket off entirely and swinging her legs around to sit normally, as if letting Gamora see her still half-lying down is too vulnerable. 

“I came to check on you,” Gamora says, trying to keep her voice casual, not let any concern slip through, anything Nebula might consider pitying. “You were having a nightmare.” 

“Are you spying on me, then?” Nebula growls. “Is this the next part of your kidnapping plan?”

“I was asleep,” says Gamora, still trying to keep her voice even. It’s frustrating to have her sister repeatedly accuse her of ill will, but it’s not like she doesn’t understand the impulse. She remembers what it was like when she was first getting to know Peter and the others -- how she’d been confused and suspicious of his unrelenting humor and kindness. 

“Oh, so now you want to accuse me of waking you?” asks Nebula, still on the defensive. “You are the one who seems determined to harass me. You are the one who dragged me here.”

“I -- simply happened to be awake,” says Gamora, deciding that will be a concession. “I could not help hearing you. I didn’t want you to be having a nightmare alone.”

“When I would have nightmares as a child,” Nebula says bitterly, “you were always there to take advantage. To attack me, or simply to witness it so you could tell our father of my weakness. I haven’t forgotten that. No matter how much you want to claim to be a hero now.”

Gamora flinches. “We--” she starts to respond on instinct, but cuts herself off. Nebula sits tense and at the ready, more than prepared for a fight, as always. As she’s always had to be. 

Gamora tamps down the urge to defend herself, though she wishes she could. It’s true that all of their siblings did that, or something like that in some form or another when they were growing up, but Gamora knows now how much more it hurt Nebula when _she_ did it. They were the closest in age, the most closely bonded at first, until Thanos had turned them against each other. 

Not anymore, though. 

“I do not expect you to forget,” Gamora says quietly. “But you must know that’s not what I’m doing now. I just want to make sure you’re all right.” 

“I’m terrific,” Nebula says, sarcasm as sharp as a sword. She’s still gripping her baton tight, her fingers trembling against the handle. Gamora gets a flash of herself after returning from the Stone, how she’d trembled on and off for days afterwards. 

“Do you--want to talk about it?” Gamora asks tentatively. 

“I want to stab you,” Nebula says flatly. 

Gamora smiles at that, unable to help herself. It’s not that she wants to make fun of Nebula now -- far from it, in fact. But she distinctly remembers saying the same thing to Peter at one point early in their relationship, when she’d been feeling particularly vulnerable. She remembers his reaction, too.

“Okay,” says Gamora, holding out both hands palms-up. Not quite a gesture of surrender, but definitely one of vulnerability. 

Nebula blinks, looking actually genuinely surprised for the first time in this conversation rather than just confused or angry. “What? ‘Okay’ what?”

“You said you want to stab me,” Gamora offers. There was a time when Nebula might have actually done it, years ago, when Thanos still had enough sway over them both. But she knows better now. Nebula is no more a threat to her than she is to Peter.

“Yes,” says Nebula, still seeming off-balance. “I _do_ want to stab you. What are you _doing_?”

Gamora shrugs casually. “If you want to stab me, then stab me. If it will make you feel better.”

“You cannot be serious,” Nebula says slowly, looking at her like she’s lost her mind. 

“I want you to feel better,” Gamora says sincerely. “If this is what will make you feel better, then do it.” 

Nebula’s face transforms several times, between confused, horrified, and frustrated. Gamora stands her ground, maintaining her open, vulnerable posture. She has no weapons on her. Nebula would be able to hurt her if she truly wished. 

She does no such thing, of course. Finally, she lets out a noise of frustration and throws her baton violently down on the couch next to her. “I am not going to stab you,” she says fiercely. “I do not want to deal with the blood.” 

Gamora lets her arms fall back to her sides, biting back a smile. She’d had a similar sort of reaction when Peter had done this to her, though not quite as stubborn. She’d mostly just been afraid that Peter truly expected her to stab him and was going to let her, but she knows now what it actually was: a show of trust. He’d left himself defenseless against her, knowing with complete confidence that she’d never hurt him. 

“Hey,” Gamora says gently. Nebula’s got her arms crossed, refusing to look at her. “We’re both up now. How about some hot chocolate?” 

Nebula still doesn’t look at her, clearly trying to keep up the facade, though it’s crumbling rapidly. “What does hot chocolate have to do with anything?”

“Well,” says Gamora, “I find that chocolate is a good antidote for nightmares.”

“I was not having a nightmare,” says Nebula, not even a little bit convincingly. “You just want an excuse to have chocolate in the middle of the night.”

“Perhaps,” she allows, shrugging again. If Nebula doesn’t want to admit to her needs, then she can play that game. “I am up now. So I am going to have hot chocolate.”

“You woke me up,” Nebula grumbles. “And now you are going to keep me awake by puttering around in the kitchen.”

“Yep,” says Gamora. “Time to go putter.” 

She walks out of the room and into the kitchen before Nebula has a chance to respond. She has a feeling that her sister will join her once it’s been long enough to not appear too eager. But regardless, she gets hot chocolate, so really it’s a win either way.

She knows how to make hot chocolate the proper Terran way. Grandpa Quill had been sure to teach her and Peter on their second trip to the farm, saying they couldn’t possibly have had proper hot chocolate until they’d had it this way. 

If Gamora ever forgot that he and Peter were related, moments like that would certainly remind her. 

She doesn’t have to worry about making it right now, though. They’d made a huge batch the night before and, hard as they’d tried, they hadn’t been able to finish it all. So now all she has to do is pull the pot it’s in out of the fridge, set it on one of the burners, and warm it up. 

By the time she’s done with that and turns back around, Nebula is sitting at the kitchen table. 

Gamora starts a little at the sight of her. She’d been so focused on her task, she hadn’t heard her walk up. Though she’s confident Nebula was intentionally trying to do this sneakily, and she is capable of great stealth, Gamora is usually too attuned to her to be snuck up on. 

Nebula smirks triumphantly at this victory. 

“I see you are still awake,” says Gamora, as casually as she can manage. She’s willing to concede a lot of things for the sake of her relationship with her sister, but this is not one of them.

“How could anyone sleep with you banging around in here?” asks Nebula, as if she’s been playing the stove like a drum set instead of just standing here quietly stirring the pan.

“You have many talents,” Gamora says lightly, taking two mugs from the cabinet. The amount of hot chocolate left over is just about perfect, though it does require her to fill the mugs very close to the rim. Not that she’s going to complain about having a very full cup of chocolate. Because she is exceedingly generous, she pushes the other one toward Nebula. “Good timing, too. The hot chocolate is ready.”

Nebula rolls her eyes, but she picks up the mug without trying to refuse it again, Gamora notices. She doesn’t even try to insult the stuff as she takes a small sip. Gamora suppresses her own triumphant smile at that, not wanting Nebula to decide she needs to deprive herself after all just for the sake of winning.

They drink their hot chocolate in semi-comfortable silence for a while. Gamora is more than used to sitting without doing much talking where her sister is involved; she’s never exactly been chatty. But there is, as Peter would say, a tap-dancing elephant in the room that they’re both aware the other can see, but no one is bringing up. 

Deciding that Nebula is never going to be the one to acknowledge it, Gamora takes a breath and plunges in. “The first time I ever had hot chocolate was after a nightmare.” 

“How wonderful for you,” Nebula deadpans, now drinking hers almost as fast as Peter does. 

It’s not exactly an invitation to continue, but it’s as close to one as she’s gonna get. 

“Peter made it for me,” she says with a fond smile at the memory. “He said it wards off nightmares.” 

Nebula scoffs. “You are both disgustingly sentimental.” 

Gamora nods; she’s not arguing there. “I was able to fall asleep afterwards. But that is probably because I talked about my dream with somebody.” 

Nebula continues to sip from her mug, staring her down without a word. 

“I still dream about Thanos,” Gamora offers, deciding she might need to start by offering more of her own vulnerability. Perhaps Nebula will be enticed to share, or at least to somehow try and compete. “Even now. Not as much as I once did, but...often.”

“I am sure that is what he would have wanted,” Nebula sniffs, looking down into her mug now. “For us to continue to be controlled by him even in death.”

“Probably,” Gamora allows, thinking bitterly of that last conversation they’d had before he’d gotten her to disclose the location of the Stone. How utterly unapologetic he’d been. Proud, even, of the horrors he’d wrought on her and all of his children. She takes another sip of her hot chocolate and banishes the images. “But that’s my point, Nebula. We can’t erase him from our minds but we can choose how we react to his ghost. We can decide to give it no more power than our subconscious might make absolutely necessary.”

“And you think you’re a shining example of that,” says Nebula. “Like you do with everything. Gamora, the top of everything. Prettiest, strongest, most ruthless. Now you want to lord it over me that you are better at making a life outside our father’s grasp. Do you not see that you are exactly the same?”

Gamora recoils slightly, stung. Nebula is just lashing out, she tells herself; her attempt at a stony-faced glare is offset by the obvious pain in her voice and her eyes, her trembling grip on the mug. She’s hanging on by a thread, and has been for a while. 

Gamora takes a beat, gripping her own mug tightly. The last thing she wants to do is react instinctively, to let her own pain and anger take over. After a few calming breaths, she says, “Is that really why you think I brought you here? To lord my life over you?” 

“That is what you’ve been doing!” Nebula says, her poor attempt at calm already shattering. “Showing off how happy you are with all this stupid stuff! Oh, look at me and my idiot family, and our dumb vacation farm with a dumb grandpa and stupid animals, we all hold hands and sing--”

“I am not showing it off!” Gamora hisses, feeling defensive despite herself. “I am including you! Because you are a part of this family, Nebula, whether you are willing to admit it or not. And every single one of us loves you and wants you to be happy, too. Despite the fact that you’ve been nothing but rude the entire time.” 

“What do you want me to do?” Nebula sneers. “Thank you for kidnapping me? For not torturing me in quite the same way as our father?”

“ _Nebula_ ,” Gamora says sharply, that accusation cutting in a way she can’t deny. 

“That’s what you’re doing!” Nebula insists, though it’s clear from the ragged edge to her voice that she doesn’t _really_ mean it, that while there might have been some truth to her earlier accusations, this one is a weapon. A defense against something she views as even worse. Vulnerability, probably. “You kidnapped me and now you are forcing me to participate in customs I have repeatedly told you I find annoying!”

“Because you won’t give them a chance,” Gamora insists. “You never give yourself a chance, Nebula. You tell me that what I did to you when we were children -- “ She cuts herself off, acknowledging that it’s not all distant history. Not even most of it. “What I did to you up until a few years ago was wrong. And it was. But now you’re treating yourself just as badly! Don’t you see that?”

“You died!” Nebula blurts, her voice breaking in a way that makes Gamora’s stomach twist painfully. “You were all I had and you _died_! To save me.”

“Nebula,” Gamora breathes. The tears sparkling in Nebula’s eyes have her stunned; though this isn’t the first time she’s seen her sister cry, it’s incredibly rare. Rarer even than it ever was for Gamora. 

“What?” Nebula snaps, though she knows very well what. Furious, most likely with herself, and embarrassed, she stands up so rapidly that she nearly knocks her chair back .

Gamora, on instinct, stands up with her and, before she can run off, wraps her in a tight hug. Nebula freezes, every inch of her stiff. 

“I’m sorry,” Gamora whispers, holding Nebula as close as possible, though her arms remain stubbornly at her sides. “I’m so sorry. I know it’s hard to be the survivor. But I would do it again. And I know you would do the same for me.” 

Nebula’s breath is shaky; she can feel the way her chest trembles with the struggle to control it. For someone who hates being vulnerable as much as Nebula, crying in front of other people is one of her worst nightmares. 

“Is that what you dreamed about?” Gamora asks quietly, when Nebula doesn’t respond or otherwise move. Gamora’s no stranger to dreams about the people she loves dying and it being her fault somehow. 

“It was easier when I hated you,” Nebula growls, her fingers twisting into the fabric of Gamora's shirt as she finally returns the hug, like that might somehow keep her protected forever. “All of you.”

“I know,” Gamora sighs, rubbing her back. She thinks of her time in the Stone, of how it had been too painful to even remember the others at times, with no hope of ever seeing them again. She thinks also of Peter, of the alternate future she'd seen, where he'd been angry, been saying in pain that he'd wished he'd never met her. “I know, but you don't really mean that. It's just -- sometimes it feels safer to tell ourselves that it's better to never have anything to lose.”

“Don't tell me how I feel,” says Nebula, but there's no strength behind it. 

“Okay,” Gamora soothes. “I have no idea how you feel. But I will listen.”

“Thanos killed you,” says Nebula, forcing the words out. At first Gamora thinks she's repeating herself, but then she continues. “Here. He killed all of you, including the stupid cows.”

“Oh,” she says softly, in understanding; this is another theme she’s familiar with. She echoes her constant mental refrain. “He can’t hurt anyone anymore, Nebula. We’re all safe from him.” 

“Don’t you think I know that?” Nebula grumbles, again with no bite to her words. She’s still clinging to the back of Gamora’s shirt, but the trembling in her fingers has subsided somewhat as she’s relaxed more against her. 

“I know,” Gamora assures her. “I have dreams like that too, though, even though I know he’s gone. I have them all the time. But it’s getting better.” 

Nebula shakes her head. “I get them every night,” she says furiously, but Gamora knows it’s not directed at her anymore. “I cannot escape him.” 

“You can,” Gamora insists, heart breaking at her tone, then brokenness of it. “You _did_. But this is what I was trying to say before. If you let us help you heal, the nightmares will get better.” 

“What am I supposed to do?” Nebula scoffs. “Stand in a circle with all of you, holding hands and singing or whatever you morons do to _bond_?” 

“Yes,” says Gamora, in her most serious tone. “Hold hands, sing, perhaps even let Peter teach you an interpretive dance.”

Nebula pulls back at that, still not quite letting go of Gamora’s shirt, but far enough to see her face and glare at it. Gamora stares her down, keeping up the facade pretty well for a few moments. But then she can’t help being struck by the image of her sister as a very angry elf, which makes the corners of her lips twitch upward. Perhaps she _is_ getting soft after all.

“You are not serious,” says Nebula.

“Completely serious,” Gamora insists, though she knows her bluff has been called. She’s still going to milk this for all it’s worth. “Perhaps you and Peter could also work out that secret handshake he’s been recommending. That could be very therapeutic as well.”

“Do not make me kill you myself,” says Nebula, her voice absolutely filled with affection.

“That _would_ be counterproductive,” Gamora agrees, reaching up tentatively to catch a single tear that’s escaped and made its way down to Nebula’s chin.

Nebula drops one of her hands off Gamora’s back to swipe furiously at her own cheeks, but keeps a tight grip with her other. 

“Look what you made me do,” she says with manufactured anger, sniffling. “You are going to turn me as soft as you, and the rest of your idiots.” 

“That is a tall order,” Gamora teases lightly. “But I know we can do it.” 

Nebula snorts, nearly a real laugh with a real smile, and Gamora beams. 

“Don’t look so satisfied,” Nebula protests, finally taking her other hand off Gamora’s back. “I am not that soft yet.” 

“Well, we’ll have to work on that,” Gamora says. Sensing that Nebula is ready for a little more space, Gamora takes a small step back, but keeps one hand on her arm so she has some point of contact, an anchor. 

“And how are we gonna do that?” Nebula mutters. The question sounds sarcastic, but she can hear the sincerity in it. 

“You don’t have to sing in a circle,” Gamora assures her, dropping the teasing; Nebula needs to know she’s being serious. “Just...spend more time with us. Don’t try to deny yourself basic needs or wants. Don’t make us kidnap you just to get you to relax for five minutes.” 

She can _see_ Nebula's internal struggle to accept this, the emotions plain on her face as they always are. That's another thing she's never managed to get control of, though Gamora no longer views that as a bad thing. It's something her sister has in common with Peter, in fact. 

Finally Nebula opens her mouth, closes it again, then swipes a hand over her face one more time. “Fine. How?”

“Let's start by finishing our hot chocolate,” Gamora suggests, realizing they've both abandoned their mugs on the table, which is a shame since it's cooling quickly. 

“All right,” says Nebula, picking hers up only a little reluctantly. 

They drink in silence for several long moments before she speaks again.

“It is good,” Nebula admits finally, though it still seems to mildly pain her to say the words. 

“Yes,” Gamora agrees. “You know what else is good? Cookies.”

Nebula had refused to try them the previous evening, denying herself even after declaring hers superior. Now, Gamora reaches into the container where the leftover ones are being stored and pulls out one of the Santa Clauses. 

Nebula takes it, stares it down for a moment, and then viciously bites off the head. 

Gamora shakes her head fondly; that is the most Nebula way she’s ever seen to eat a cookie. “So, what do you think?” 

Nebula looks at her cookie for a moment as she chews, glances back up at her, then down at her cookie again. “It is--also good,” she says, clearly reluctant to say so. “Not as good as the hot chocolate.” 

Gamora grins. “I feel the same.” 

“At least you are correct about _some_ things,” Nebula mutters. She takes another bite of her cookie, this time taking an arm, then freezes at a noise from upstairs.

Gamora hears it too. “That’s Peter,” she says, the sound of his steps so familiar she could probably pick them out from thousands. “He’s probably going to come down.” Which means they’ve probably got less than a minute left of alone time. As much as Peter loves to sleep, once he wakes up and discovers she’s not there, he usually gets up too. He’s said several times that there’s no point in staying in a bed that doesn’t have Gamora in it. 

Nebula stares down her cookie again for just a second, then quickly crams the entire thing into her mouth, cheeks puffed out as she struggles to chew it.

Gamora gapes, trying not to laugh. Nebula glares at her, which honestly only makes her look more ridiculous. Gamora would dearly love to take a picture and show her, but she doesn’t want to push Nebula quite that far. Not yet, anyway. 

She manages to swallow just as Peter comes bounding down the stairs as expected, skipping every other one by the sound of it. Gamora can hear the sound of his heartbeat and his breathing as he makes it into the living room, both faster than usual for first thing in the morning, though not really unexpected for this type of awakening.

“Gamora,” he says quietly, searching for her, but knowing that she’ll be able to hear if she’s in the vicinity and trying not to wake the others. 

“Here,” she answers, just a bit louder. He doesn’t have enhanced ears, after all. Though he is _very_ good at picking up her voice, she’s learned.

“Hey!” Peter breathes, coming into the kitchen quickly, then pausing to take both of them in. He’s clearly taken aback at the sight of Nebula, though he shouldn’t be. He must have passed the couch and found it empty, but probably wasn’t focused on that. “What happened?”

“I had a nightmare,” Nebula says flatly, and Gamora is momentarily shocked, until she continues. “That my sister and her dumb family kidnapped me and took me to a Terran hell store. Oh, wait. That really happened.”

Peter lets out a laugh that’s half exhale of relief. “Wal-Mart’s not so bad.” His shoulders relax and he moves closer to Gamora, wrapping his arm around her waist. Grounding himself, she’s pretty sure. He’d normally wrap her in a hug, but she knows this is him showing restraint in front of Nebula when it has to be pretty clear they’d been having a serious discussion. 

“Did you sleep okay?” Gamora asks quietly, suddenly concerned with how quickly he’d come down. He’d seemed to be sleeping peacefully, but that can be deceptive. 

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he says with a reassuring smile, and a squeeze to her waist. “Just woke up and didn’t know where you were.”

Gamora hums in acknowledgment, not wanting to apologize in case it makes Nebula feel guilty. So she takes his hand in hers and kisses the back of it, which makes Peter smile wider and Nebula roll her eyes. 

“Is the hot chocolate helping your--waking nightmare?” Peter asks, playing along. 

“Well, I’m still on this backwater planet,” Nebula grumbles, perhaps not willing to admit to anyone besides Gamora that she enjoys it. 

“It is helping me,” Gamora says, taking another sip. “Though it’s not exactly hot anymore.”

“How bout I make you some fresh stuff?” Peter offers, already moving toward the stove. “Maybe the smell will wake the others up so we can open presents! Because: merry Christmas!” 

“Merry for you, perhaps,” says Nebula, because apparently she isn’t entirely ready to buy into the magic of Christmas. Which is probably to be expected. It isn’t as though Gamora ever believed she would become a different person after a single conversation. She knows firsthand how difficult it is to banish the ghosts of their past.

“It’s Christmas!” Peter repeats, his characteristic enthusiasm for all things Terran returning as he continues to wake up and get his bearings. 

Nebula sighs. “So you have said.” But then she glances around the kitchen, clearly expending great effort as she decides what sort of an olive branch she can afford to extend. Finally, she turns back to Peter. “How, precisely, does one make hot chocolate?”

He grins, his entire face lighting up with it. He definitely recognizes the meaning of the gesture, but doesn’t call attention to it. For all that he can be silly, oblivious, or downright irritating at times, Peter has always been good at this part of interacting with their family. “Well, first we gotta get all the ingredients out. My mom always said cooking without preparation is asking for trouble!”

“Your mother was correct that preparation is important in all things,” Nebula says stiffly.

“My mom was right about most things,” he says happily, and also with that touch of sadness that colors his voice whenever he talks about his mother. 

“Maybe Peter can teach you to make it,” Gamora tells Nebula. “Then you’ll be able to have it whenever you want.” 

“Yeah, come on!” Peter says, clanging the pots and pans around as he digs one out. If the smell of hot chocolate doesn’t wake the others up, that’ll probably do it. “It’s super easy!” 

Nebula sighs very dramatically, then puts her mug down and shuffles closer, arms crossed over her chest. “I will watch, but I am not going to make it myself, so it is pointless.” 

“All right,” Peter says easily. Gamora knows he knows that Nebula is lying. 

Gamora watches too, but she’s more focused on watching Nebula, and the care Peter takes in showing her the steps, how undeterred he is by her attempt at nonchalance. She smiles with affection for both of them, taking advantage of the few moments they have before the others wake up. 

Those few moments turn out to be very few. By the time this batch of hot chocolate is finished, the others have come banging down the stairs — with the exception of Grandpa Quill, who walks slow, and Groot, who drags himself down even slower, rubbing his eyes and grumbling. 

“Hot chocolate?” Peter offers, pouring and handing out mugs. He’s made another huge batch, comically so at first glance, but it dwindles quickly until there’s barely any left in the pot. 

Rocket comes in last of all, not down the stairs but through the door from the outside, carrying something in the remnants of a cardboard box. Gamora finds herself taken aback at that, because she’d been under the impression that he’d been sharing an upstairs guest room with Groot. To be coming from outside now, he must have been out there before Nebula’s nightmare awakened her. Before either of them got up. Now she wonders whether he’s slept at all. 

He pauses in the kitchen, glancing around at all of them, standing around sipping sleepily from their mugs. “What’s this?”

“Christmas morning!” Peter says for at least the half-dozenth time, just as brightly as the first. “Hot chocolate?”

“Not now,” says Rocket, then turns to Grandpa Quill. “Christmas morning means there’s supposed to be gifts, right?”

Grandpa Quill nods. “Traditionally yes, but--”

“Then here,” says Rocket, holding up the box and choosing not to mention the fact that he can’t reach the counter.

“Oh!” Grandpa Quill stares at in surprise before seeming to snap himself out of it, grabbing the box from him quickly. Gamora scoots closer to see, but the contents are mostly hidden by the box’s two incredibly worn out flaps. “Well--thank you.”

“This is perfect!” Peter says enthusiastically. He squeezes his grandpa’s shoulder. “It’s only right that you should get the first gift of the day!”

“Exactly!” Drax agrees. “The host of the event should always get the first offering. On my planet, it would be the meat of the beast we felled for the occasion.”

“That sounds better,” Nebula mutters. Gamora elbows her in the side and she makes a face at her. 

“Well, all right then,” Grandpa Quill says with a smile. He’s adapted pretty quickly to just rolling with all the weird stuff they say and do. “Thank you, Rocket.” He turns to Peter next to him. “Would you mind--?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Peter says, taking the box from him. It must be fairly heavy, since Peter holds it with both hands. Gamora finds herself watching the way the muscles in his arms cause the sleeves of his pajamas to tighten, letting her see the outline of his body. 

She shakes herself when Grandpa Quill opens the flaps of the box, revealing what’s inside. “Oh, it’s a...mixer?” he says, half a question. 

“It used to be!” Rocket says, pleased with himself and his invention. “It also used to be part of an old machine I found in your shed. And a pot.” 

Gamora catches her breath. “You’ve been working in the shed?” It’s the first time, at least as far as she knows, though that was definitely one of the things she saw for him in the Stone’s vision. Now she feels a cautious little thrill at the idea, at the prospect that they might actually be on a path toward one of the happy futures she managed to see.

“Yeah…” Rocket turns to stare at her, then shakes himself. “Jeez, don’t act like I’m never gonna come back to space or somethin’. There’s just a buncha stuff in there that nobody’s using. Wasn’t just gonna let it go to waste.”

“True,” says Grandpa Quill. “But if it _was_ a mixer, what is it now?”

“A hot chocolate maker,” says Rocket, like it ought to be obvious. “Put it in the pot and it stirs itself! No more babysitting that thing.”

“It is beautiful!” Mantis says kindly. She says that about a lot of things, though that’s not quite the word Gamora would use to describe it. It’s very mechanical looking, like a typical Rocket creation. Which means it will work well, but just doesn’t look pretty. 

“That’s very clever,” Grandpa Quill says, sounding truly impressed. “Thank you, Rocket. I’ll never be short of hot chocolate again.” 

“Finally, someone appreciates my genius,” Rocket says proudly, arms crossed in satisfaction. Nebula snorts. 

“Well, now that we’ve got this party started,” Peter says, setting the box down on the counter, “let’s move into the living room to open the rest!” 

Groot perks up for the first time this morning. He’s sitting splayed in a chair, half sprawled across the table like he might go back to sleep. 

“Come on, you gotta move,” Gamora says, using her hand to flatten the vines on his head as she walks past him. Groot stands up, grumbling playfully and messing his hair back up again. 

“She’ll get your hair neat someday, bud,” Peter chuckles. 

“I am Groot,” he says a bit petulantly.

“I am _not_ going to braid your vines,” says Gamora, shooting a look at Peter. She’s not sure whether he’s ever actually said that to Groot, and if he did, she knows it was only one of the idle threats he sometimes uses in a misguided attempt at parenting. But still. “Unless you want me to.”

Groot shakes his head, but he’s finally moving, following them into the living room. 

The scene in there is decidedly festive, or at least it is by Gamora’s limited standards. She realizes that she was so distracted by Nebula’s distress in the middle of the night that she’d failed to take any notice of the tree or anything around it then. When they’d gone to bed, she and Peter had placed their gifts on the tree skirt they’d improvised from an old fleece blanket. There hadn’t been any other items at the time. Now, though...Clearly the others all brought their own gifts down at some point during the night, or maybe this morning, because now there’s such a large pile of presents in various states of wrapping that the small, spindly tree is hardly visible. The lights still are, though, creating a multicolored glow that almost looks like it’s emanating from the boxes.

“Santa came!” Peter says happily.

“Where?” asks Drax, dropping into a half-defensive posture and spinning around. “I see no evidence of an intruder!”

“Of course not, you dumbass,” Rocket says. “Santa’s fake, remember?” 

“Oh,” Drax says, deflating. “Yes. I know that… Then how could he have come here?” 

Peter sighs. Gamora puts a comforting hand on his shoulder, though she’s trying not to laugh. 

He shakes his head. “Nevermind. Who wants to go first?” 

“Me!” Mantis yells right away, at the same time that Drax yells the same thing.

“One of you can give the other a gift,” Gamora says quickly, wanting to stave off any bickering. Mantis and Drax very rarely argue, but they do sometimes get into childish disagreements that result in a lot of pouting. 

“Oh, I will give you one!” Mantis says, practically diving into the present pile to search for the specific one. 

“I am Groot!” 

“She’s not gonna wreck the pile,” Gamora says placatingly. 

“It already is a wreck,” Nebula points out, gesturing to the mess of a pile. “What is there to wreck?” 

“That’s the spirit.” Peter grins and claps her on the back. She predictably glares at him but he’s not bothered. 

“Do be careful of the tree,” Gamora reminds Mantis gently, thinking of the way it’s hidden behind all the gifts, and so weighed down with ornaments on its gangly branches that it probably wouldn’t take much to send it toppling to the ground.

“Here!” says Mantis, finally finding the package she’s looking for and somehow miraculously managing to pull it from the middle of the pile without anything falling over.

“I am Groot!” says Groot, sounding impressed now.

Mantis gives him a sincere grin. “Thank you!” Then she holds the package out to Drax expectantly, like she thinks there’s some kind of suspense here. Which, to be fair, there sort of is since the package has been wrapped so thoroughly in pink ribbon that the item is completely obscured.

“I don’t think you wrapped it enough times,” Nebula tells her, almost as if sharing the thought.

“Don’t worry!” Mantis says brightly. “I put several more layers on yours!”

“Oh, _good_ ,” Nebula retorts. 

Undeterred by any part of this, Drax takes it from Mantis, pulls one of his ever-present knives from his hip, and slices straight through all of the ribbon at once. Then he bursts into uproarious laughter as the pieces fall away, pointing back and forth between himself and the gift. It’s one of the toothbrush kits from Wal-Mart, Gamora sees -- one that originally featured Thor, only his picture is crossed out in black marker and next to it is a messily drawn figure that’s clearly supposed to represent Drax.

“It is like you said you wanted!” Mantis says eagerly, clapping her hands together. Her antennae are glowing the way they do when she is feeling someone’s intense emotions, no doubt Drax’s excitement. Combined with her own, it seems to be making her downright giddy. 

“I am a toothbrush now!” he proclaims gleefully, holding up the box as if it’s some kind of trophy. “I represent the pinnacle of Terran hygiene!” 

“Is that really sayin’ anything?” Rocket mutters, then glances at Grandpa Quill, who’s watching this whole thing with bemusement. “No offense or whatever. You seem better at it than Quill anyway.”

“Hey!” Peter protests, but it’s more reflex than anything. He’s watching the scene with a grin, and Rocket always teases him about his hygiene, despite how much better he is about it than when they all first met. 

“That is a very nice gift, Mantis,” Gamora says supportively. Nebula is shaking her head, though Gamora detects some real affection in her expression. Mantis looks very proud of herself. 

“Now I will be able to brush my teeth with myself!” Drax says, ripping open the box. 

“Not yet, man,” Peter says, back at the present pile. “Everyone’s gotta open all their presents before we start using any of them.” 

“I am Groot!” says Groot, pointing toward the kitchen. 

“Oh, good point,” Peter allows. “I think we can make an exception for my grandpa's present. We _do_ need more hot chocolate.”

“I'll go get it started,” Grandpa Quill says immediately. 

Nebula glances around at the others. “Someone should assist him,” she huffs, before following him into the kitchen. 

Gamora meets Peter's eyes for a second, smiling so wide it's almost painful. 

But then Groot interrupts again, this time using his vines to present packages to her and Peter simultaneously. 

“Oh, thank you,” Gamora says warmly, taking hers. 

Peter takes his gift too, but nods to her to go first. He's actually wrapped their gifts fairly well relative to some of the others, in green paper with gold sparkles on it. The package she's holding is a little lopsided, but that doesn't stop her from giving Groot a proud smile before carefully opening it. Inside is a hair brush shaped and painted like the helmet of one of the Storm Troopers from Star Wars. 

Gamora gasps softly, taking it out to examine it more. “Groot, this is so thoughtful. Thank you.” 

Groot shrugs, arms crossed and looking away. The first thing Peter had done with the new tablet Stark had given them, after showing _her_ Star Wars, was to show the rest of the team the movies as well. Groot had feigned disinterest at the time, but once Rocket had hooked Knight Rider up to the rest of the ship, she’d caught him watching the movies again on his own. 

“This is my favorite hairbrush now,” she tells him, wrapping him in a hug, which he grumbles about but returns warmly. 

“It is beautiful!” Mantis says predictably, but honestly. 

“Coolest hairbrush ever,” Peter says. And then, having restrained himself for half a minute now, he appears to have finally reached his breaking point because he begins tearing the wrapping paper off his present. 

He laughs when he gets it off, then lets out a “Whoop!” and jumps up in the air once. “This is so cool! Look at this!”

“Cool... metal stick?” Rocket guesses, squinting at it. 

Gamora recognizes it immediately and she smiles, both at Groot’s thoughtfulness and Peter’s excitement. It’s a lightsaber -- a toy one, of course, probably purchased when they’d split up at Wal-Mart. At first it’s just the handle, but then Peter flicks it down and four thin, blue plastic pieces come sliding out to form the ‘laser’ part of it. 

“Very formidable,” says Gamora, his excitement palpable and contagious. Since he finally introduced her to Star Wars, they’ve had plenty of debates over the practicality of lightsabers. Personally, she doesn’t understand the appeal of them, why anyone would want something as unwieldy as a laser sword when metal weapons as elegant as the Godslayer exist. Still, Peter’s love of them is undeniable, and she is not about to take that away from him.

He spins around with the toy, jabbing the air in several quick motions that would be comically unstrategic in anything resembling a real fight. 

“Wanna try, babe?” he asks Gamora, chopping through the air a few more times before offering it to her.

“All right,” she agrees, taking the toy and holding it like she would her own sword. Peter makes sound effects for her, buzzing and zapping in ways that she has never heard any laser actually make. 

“Would you like one of your gifts?” asks Gamora, when she finally hands it back. She can see the package she has in mind toward the top of one of the piles, easy enough to grab. 

“Hell yeah!” says Peter, then glances furtively toward the kitchen, as though worried that his grandpa will have heard and suddenly realized he’s capable of swearing.

Drax crosses his arms over his chest, pouting. “He already opened one of his!” 

“So did you, moron,” Rocket mutters. “Some of us haven’t opened any, yet.”

“Everyone is going to get to open all of their presents,” Gamora says, as if placating a toddler. “But the whole reason we’re all here is because of Peter, so he more than deserves to open two gifts in a row.” She holds out the gift determinedly. 

Peter grins as he takes it, looking very pleased. “Yeah, so _there_.” He sticks his tongue out at Drax, who responds in kind. 

“Whatever,” Rocket says, rolling his eyes. “If it’s something mushy, I’m out of here.”

“You often say that,” Mantis observes, as if just noticing a mild curiosity, “yet you are never actually out of here.”

Groot snorts. Peter ignores all of them, ripping the paper off this gift. Gamora gets a surge of nerves as he opens it, suddenly afraid that he’s not going to like it. She always feels this way before giving him a gift, despite the fact that he’s loved everything she’s ever given him. 

It’s a white truck, something she’d heard called a _semi-truck_ , a name she doesn’t understand. On the side, the word _Wal-Mart_ is written in blue letters. 

“I thought,” says Gamora, “that it could be a memento. Of our first trip, mostly, but the ones since then too.”

“Babe!” Peter exclaims, every bit as excited about this as he had been about the lightsaber. “I _love_ it!” He leans in to kiss her, light and chaste at first, then deeper and rougher, until her breath is coming more quickly and Nebula, having apparently returned from the kitchen, clears her throat pointedly.

When Peter steps back, Gamora sees that he had a dual purpose in kissing her like that. She doesn’t doubt his sincerity in loving her gift, or in wanting to ‘make out’ in front of the Christmas tree. Both of those things are absolutely genuine Peter. But she also immediately notices that there’s another package that’s appeared on top of the stack -- a small one wrapped in silver paper. 

Peter arches an eyebrow at her, the absolute picture of innocence. “What is it, Mora? See something weird?”

“I see a new gift has mysteriously sprung up,” she says, looking at it. 

“Quill snuck it out of his pocket while you were kissing!” Drax says loudly, pointing an accusing finger at him. Peter gives him a look. 

“Ssssh,” Mantis says, finger over her lips. “I think that was supposed to be a secret!” 

“Well then Quill is terrible at secrets,” Nebula says with a snort. “We all saw him take it out of his pocket. Except for you, apparently,” she adds to Gamora, who shrugs. She’s more than okay with the method of distraction. 

“I’m amazing at secrets,” Peter says petulantly. Gamora pats his arm supportively. 

Groot, apparently uninterested in this entire conversation, says, “I am Groot?” 

“The hot chocolate will be ready soon,” Grandpa Quill answers, coming in from the kitchen behind Nebula. For having known him such a short amount of time, he’s getting pretty good at understanding Groot. “It’s stirring itself now.” 

“Damn right it is,” Rocket says proudly. 

“Anyway,” Peter says pointedly, taking the gift off the stack. “Since you did happen to point out this present, maybe we should see who it’s for, huh?”

“Gee, I wonder who it will be for,” Nebula mutters.

“Wow, look at that,” Peter says, acting surprised when he sees the name written in his own handwriting on the wrapping paper. “It’s for you, Mora!” 

“Imagine that,” says Gamora, with far greater warmth than Nebula. 

“Well _I_ had no idea,” says Peter, shrugging and holding out the little package.”

“Thank you,” says Gamora, taking it and carefully using a nail to slit the tape holding the paper in place.

“How do you know whether to thank him or not?” asks Drax, leaning in. “You do not know what is in it!”

Gamora doesn’t take the time to answer that, opening the box instead. Inside in a nest of paper is a ring. The band is a delicate silver metal, but it’s the stone that makes her catch her breath. It’s equal parts dark and fiery, like someone has managed to capture all the most glorious parts of space to be worn on a finger.

“Oh, _Peter_ ,” she whispers, her eyes filling with tears of wonder as she looks up at him.

“The Terran tradition,” says Peter, putting his hand under the one she’s using to hold the box, “would have been for me to get you a really pretty engagement ring before we got married. But we didn’t exactly -- have a traditional engagement. So, you know. Merry Christmas.”

“Oh,” Gamora repeats, her voice barely a breath. She reaches into the box with a trembling hand and tentatively takes the ring out, holding it like the precious thing it is. “That is a beautiful tradition. And this is the most beautiful stone I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s, um, apparently some kind of opal,” Peter says, looking down at the ring with her. “I kind of forgot exactly what it is. I thought it was pretty, so I just--”

“I love it,” Gamora says vehemently. “I love you. It’s the perfect Christmas present.”

Peter offers her an emotional smile and kisses her again, this time actually keeping it chaste. “Love you too.”

“I knew there was gonna be something mushy,” Rocket grumbles, but he doesn’t sound nearly as grumpy as he’s trying to. 

Gamora ignores him and holds out the ring to Peter. “Put it on for me?”

He nods, taking it from her. His fingers are trembling a little too as he slips it on her finger so that it rests just above her wedding band. 

Peter takes her hand delicately and kisses the backs of her fingers. Gamora presses her lips together to stem the tears. 

“Congratulations!” Drax bellows, loud enough to make both her and Peter jump. “You are engaged again!”

“Uh no,” says Peter, turning toward Drax without letting go of her hand. “We’re already married, dude. That’s not a thing you do twice.”

“Well,” says Grandpa Quill, clearing his throat on his own bit of emotional hoarseness, “technically you _can_ do a vow renewal ceremony someday if you want to. Usually people don’t do that unless they’ve been married for quite a while.”

“Yes!” Drax exclaims, practically bouncing with excitement. Gamora would be annoyed if she weren’t currently so full of affection. “Yes, do that!”

“A _while_ ,” Peter repeats.

“You have been married for half a year!” Drax insists. “That is practically an eternity!”

“We’re not getting married again now,” Gamora says firmly. Then she turns back to Peter. “But I _do_ love my ring. Thank you.”

“It’s gorgeous,” says Grandpa Quill, sounding a bit choked up again. 

“Of course it is,” says Nebula, sounding equal parts proud and disgusted. “It’s Gamora’s. Everything she does is gorgeous or perfect or both.”

“Well, Peter did this, you know,” Gamora points out, deciding to take that comment as relatively positive. “He picked it out.” 

Nebula twists her mouth with a distressed noise that would make Gamora laugh if she weren’t still so emotional. 

Before she can come up with a retort, Peter grins and pats her arm. “Thank you, Nebula! I am gorgeous and perfect. I’m glad you finally noticed.”

Nebula growls. “That is not--”

“It’s okay,” Peter says smugly. “We all know it.” 

Groot throws a wad of wrapping paper at the back of his head. 

“Here,” Gamora says, holding her hand out closer to Nebula so she can see the ring, because she knows she wants to, though she’d never admit it or ask. 

“Well,” Nebula sniffs. “It shows better taste than I would have expected from Quill.” 

“I agree!” Drax says, leaning over Gamora’s shoulder to see. 

“What do you mean, you agree?” Peter says with a pout. “I have awesome taste.”

“Yes, you do,” Gamora says fondly. She rests a hand on his cheek and his pout evaporates into a smile. 

“Ugh,” Rocket groans, throwing his arms up. “Can we please move on to some of the other presents now? Something that’s not gonna make us all puke?” 

“Yes, please,” Nebula agrees. Then she gives Rocket a sidelong glance, like she’s horrified at herself for agreeing with any of them, even him and his disdain for all things romantic.

“Okay!” Peter says easily, unperturbed as always at her sourness. “How about one for you, Sis?”

Nebula curls her lip. “Not if you are going to call me that.”

Peter considers for a moment, then grins. “How about one for you, Most Terrifying Woman in the Universe?”

Nebula’s face changes immediately at that, from an expression of disgust to one of approval, perhaps even pride. Gamora would say something about that -- about how she deserves to allow herself a different title, how she could be so much more. But for right now it’s enough that Nebula is enjoying anything, that she’s allowing herself to be pleased and show it. She isn’t going to ruin that on Christmas morning.

“I will accept a gift,” says Nebula, but then her expression falls a bit. “Though I do not know why anyone would have prepared one for me. It is not as if I had the foreknowledge to get one for any of you.”

“Cause you’re family,” Peter says easily. “And this is your first Christmas with us, so you get a pass on buying presents.” 

“Next year you can get them,” Gamora says encouragingly; hopefully. 

Nebula makes a noncommittal noise, which is basically a yes. “I suppose if you are going to kidnap me to get me to go places, I won’t have much of a choice will I?” 

“That’s the spirit!” Mantis says enthusiastically. 

“What present are you going to open?” Drax asks, already digging through the pile. 

“Open mine!” Peter says, grabbing a huge bag, one of the biggest presents under the tree. There’s a long, thin, cylindrical object sticking out of the bag, covered loosely and haphazardly with snowflake wrapping paper. Gamora hasn’t seen the actual present, as she’d stayed with Nebula when Peter had split up to go buy it, but he’d told her later what he got. Gamora’s not sure whether Nebula is going to love it or throw it at someone. 

“How exactly am I supposed to do that?” Nebula asks, taking it from him with a bemused expression. 

“Well,” Gamora says carefully, trying to mask her excitement because she doesn’t want Nebula to be embarrassed, or to decide that she needs to deny herself, “you should probably start by taking the bag off.”

“Oh, thank you,” Nebula says dryly, but it’s actually sort of a relief. If she’s using her typical sarcasm, it means she’s feeling at least somewhat at-ease. She does as she’s told, though, pulling the bag free and peering into the empty depths of it as though it will somehow give her the key to decoding Christmas morning.

Bag gone, the object inside remains covered in paper, though it’s more crumpled than actually wrapped. Peter definitely did a more careful job on her ring, and Gamora can’t help feeling a sense of possessive pride at that. She wants her sister to have good things, without question, but she also always wants to be the most important person in his life. 

“Now take off the paper,” Gamora tells her, because she’s looking confused again, or perhaps just hesitant, as though she’s still uncertain of how to react to receiving a gift. Or perhaps the question is more how to receive a gift in front of others.

“I know the concept of unwrapping a present,” Nebula mutters petulantly. “I was just commenting on the quality of the wrapping.” 

Still, she does as instructed and takes the paper off with more care even than Gamora does -- or she tries to, anyway. It’s rather difficult when the present is so awkwardly shaped and awkwardly wrapped. All she has to do is peel away the first section and the rest of it falls down easily, revealing the entire gift. 

“What on Earth--?” Grandpa Quill mutters. 

It’s one of the most horrifying, hilarious things Gamora’s ever seen. At the top is the cartoon-ish head of one of the cow creatures -- which she now knows is a reindeer -- that is designed to be worn as some kind of costume, or so Peter had explained to her. It’s attached to what Gamora knows to be a broom handle, but she’s surprised to see the beginnings of the broom’s bristles sticking out of the bottom of the mask. Apparently, rather than breaking off the stick part, Peter had just stuck the entire broom inside the mask and attached it somehow. 

“Get it?” Peter asks eagerly. “It’s the head of one of your enemies on a stick!” 

Nebula stares at it for a long moment, then looks around at all the rest of them, who are waiting for her reaction, though Gamora at least is trying not to show that she is. She’s starting to get nervous about Nebula’s response, but there’s no need. 

Slowly, Nebula grips the base of the stick in her fist and holds it upright next to her. It’s nearly as tall as she is. 

“I have conquered Christmas,” she declares. Then she smiles -- wide, satisfied, and slightly menacing. But happy; undeniably happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Stay tuned for our next project in this 'verse!

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked it, please let us know. Feedback is an excellent holiday gift. ;)


End file.
